Specialization
by the morrighan
Summary: A shocking development leads to shocking revelations. Note: Dear Readers, this story marks the halfway point of my stories. We are halfway to the end of this series. I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride!
1. Chapter 1

Specialization

Green.

The cursor blinked a bright, almost annoying green color on the computer screen. Then it zipped along, morphing into a series of letters and numbers. An IDC code, one that John Sheppard recognized. A brisk nod was all it took for the technician to hit a key, to accept the transmission. Another nod and Rodney McKay was opening the Iris, allowing the Stargate's wormhole to engage. A long KAWOOSH of matter stream shot out, then fell back to a shimmering pool.

John folded his arms across his chest, staring down at the Stargate. He hadn't bothered to stop at his room. Hadn't bothered to change into less rumpled clothes. Hadn't bothered to clean up after the wild, wild sex with Moira O'Meara. He shifted his stance a little, just a little. A quick smirk tugged the corner of his mouth. A swift echo of pleasure emanated for a mere second. He could still feel Moira. Feel her moist heat on his skin, could taste her aroma on him. Recalled the frantic, nearly forceful coupling. The way he had left her. The things he had said.

He frowned, shoving it all aside, glanced over to see Rodney looking at him. "What?" he snapped.

"Nothing. You seem deep in thought, is all."

"Yeah." He looked back as a team emerged from the 'Gate. Elizabeth Weir smiled, like a cat who had just found a bowl of cream. Evan Lorne and the marines followed her, also appearing well-pleased. John schooled his expression, strode down to the 'Gate room to greet them.

"John!" Elizabeth said, smiling broadly. "Rodney!" she greeted as the scientist joined them. She held up a ZPM.

"Well done!" Rodney grinned, taking it from her. "How did you–"

"Skillful negotiation," Evan answered, smiling. "Sir," he glanced at John. "Doctor Weir danced rings around their objections and secured us a working ZPM!"

"And what did it cost us?" John asked, meeting her gaze.

Taken aback by his suspicion her smile dimmed. "Nothing, John. Nothing but some trade agreements and an alliance. That is all. I'm more concerned about your mission. Ford?"

"Long story. Well, short story, actually, since he wasn't there. More importantly we need to discuss security measures for all teams leaving Atlantis." He gestured for her to proceed him out of the room. Turned. "Lorne, have your men stand down for now. Debrief in thirty."

"Yes, sir." Evan directed his men out of the room.

"A ZPM!" Rodney turned it round in his hands, fingers running up and down the orange and yellow device. "Wait! It is operational, right?

"Yes, Rodney," Elizabeth called over her shoulder. "It's not fully powered, but I'm sure you can boost its energy somehow." She entered her office, set down her pack on her desk and turned as John followed her. "You said Ford wasn't there?"

"No, he wasn't. But he left a calling card." John stood near the desk. "Abducted Teyla and Radek, took them to another planet and left them for me to find. No," he held up a hand, "they're both fine. Unharmed. It was just a ploy to show what he can do."

"Wonderful," Elizabeth noted, sitting in her chair. She frowned. "We need to catch him, John. Before he decides to up the ante."

"I know. But until I can find him and secure him we need to be extra cautious out there. I'm thinking we increase the marines on every team, and only send scientists when it is absolutely necessary. We can't risk more of our people falling into his hands...especially McKay. We can't trust Ford to be so lenient next time."

"Agreed." She pulled a data pad to her. "Was there anything else I need to know?"

"No. Well, just that Beckett is at the Alpha site. Studying some thing, some creature...in fact he should be calling in shortly."

"What? What kind of creature? John?"

But John had turned and was heading back to the control room.

* * *

Moira limped to a chair in the control room, sat and brought the screen online. She had cleaned up after the wild, wild sex with John. Had changed into a long-sleeved dark green shirt and navy pants. Had secured her hair in a ponytail. She stared at the screen, waiting. Mind going over the cavalier way that John had left her. The way he had spoken to her. The incongruity of his behavior. One moment he was suddenly romantic and loving. The next more like the ladies' man of old. Uncaring. Taking what he wanted and leaving with no strings attached.

Pushing aside her thoughts, her feelings she tapped the keyboard. Tapped it again. A blank screen met her gaze. She frowned. "Damn it," she softly complained. Tapped again. "John, could you help me here?"

John had reached the control room and stood near a console. Hearing Moira he turned, but she wasn't looking at him. He followed her line of sight and saw the technician John Anderson. The blond, skinny man smiled and moved to her. John watched as he leaned close, one hand on the keyboard, the other on the back of her chair.

"Incoming wormhole, sir. Shall I lower the Iris? Sir? Sir?

The cold ire in John's gaze made the sargeant gulp. John swallowed the emotions. "IDC?"

"Doctor Beckett, sir."

"Lower the Iris." He tapped a few keys, waited as the wormhole engaged. Glanced back to see the other John still fussing over Moira's console, speaking quietly near her ear. "Moira!" he barked, unable to help himself. "Incoming!"

Moira looked over at him. "It's not working yet, colonel." She looked back at the screen, as if dismissing him. "Oh John Anderson," she said, loud enough for him to hear. Could feel his ire across the room and briefly smiled, but did not turn.

John scowled. "Moira! You can have audio here," he offered. Waited. Waited.

Moira ignored him. But stood. "Keep trying, John, and thank you. A video link is necessary as well."

"Of course, Moira. I'll do what I can," the technician offered with a smile.

John looked at the shimmering wormhole as Moira limped over to him. Stood. "I'll do what I can," he mocked in a higher tone. "As if he could even get your console going in the first place," he muttered under his breath.

"At least he is polite," she muttered, glanced at him. "Here."

He looked at her. She held out half a sandwich. He took it as she began to eat the other half. He pondered, could not decipher her mood. Or his, for that matter. He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. "Um, Moira...I..."

"Save it, flyboy," she said. "What's taking so long?"

"Dunno." He stared at her, watching her eat. Heard the cool tone. Could imagine the anger underneath it. But she had brought him a sandwich. Half a sandwich. He devoured the food.

"Atlantis, do you read? This is Major Reynolds, Alpha site."

"Loud and clear, major. Status?"

"Site is secure, sir. The um, thing...the thing has doubled in size but has exhibited no motion otherwise. Doctor Beckett is still running his analysis but we are having trouble with the vid-link on this end."

"Same here, major," John stated. Glanced over his shoulder to see the technician on his knees now under the console. He smirked. "It doesn't look good here. There?"

"Hendricks is working on it, sir, but so far nothing."

"Colonel Sheppard!" came Carson Beckett's agitated, Scottish voice, "I need Moira here now! There is too much data for me to collate on my own, plus take samples and continue to–"

"Carson?" Moira interjected, stepping closer to John so she could be heard. "Is it?"

"Yes. Dormant."

"Dormant? How long?"

"An hour. Specifics."

"Okay."

"I need you here."

"Okay, Carson. An hour." She glanced at John who was watching her. "Um, maybe two."

"Maybe none," John stated flatly. Unmovable.

"Good! Carson, I'll be there in half an hour after the data."

"Thank you, love. Beckett out."

The wormhole disengaged. "Hey!" John tried to catch Moira's arm but she walked away from him. "Hey! What was that? How do you two still talk like that even at a distance? And there's no way you're going, Moira! Moira! Damn it!" He strode after her, pissed at her complete disregard of him.

Moira increased her pace, the limp only slowing her slightly as she made her way to the biology lab. She entered. "Laura, I need the genomes on the sub-Wraith, please, to cross-reference with the samples Carson has. And mine. Transfer them to screen three, please." She moved to a desk, sat and began to rapidly type. Attached a data pad and transferred data as it streamed across the screen. She frowned, checking enzyme levels, incubating development. Gene strands. Called up the sequences again. Again.

"What is it?" John asked, seeing her startled reaction. Her brown eyes widening. Her rosy lips parting with a slight gasp. "Moira?"

"Nothing." She glanced at him. Glanced at him again, eyes narrowing in consideration.

"What?" he repeated, nearly squirming under her scrutiny. "Look, um, Moira...I..."

"Not now, John." She looked back at the screen. Disconnected the data pad. Shut down the data. Briefly touched her abdomen. Flexed her sore foot. She stood. Turned to him as he watched her, brows furrowed in a flurry of conflicting emotions, concerns. "That explains some of it, but not all of it. Not all of it...unless...you...you...oh John..." She sighed, shook her head.

"What?" he repeated. "What? Moira? I...look, I..."

"Later! For crying out loud, John!" she flared.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh please! Like you don't even know! Come on! You...you need to make a decision!"

"I have! You are not going to the Alpha site," he said sternly.

"No! Not about that! Us! Come on! You need to come with me to the site!" He didn't move, didn't budge. "John! This is important! I have to go there now. So do you." She sighed. Touched his arm. "John, please. That...that thing, whatever it is...it's growing too rapidly. It's developing. Specialization. It's adapting to a particular lifestyle and habitat, to a specific ecological niche that shouldn't exist! It shouldn't exist at all, John! It's not, not natural! Please," she added. Fingers slightly caressing his arm now.

John sighed, cursed. Gestured and followed her out of the biology lab. "Fine! I'll grab my P90 and meet you in three! Don't you dare leave without me!" He sprinted down the hallway.

Moira stood waiting in the 'Gate room, feeling slightly ridiculous as she was alone. No one was above her dialing the Stargate. She fidgeted, moving foot to foot, testing her injured one. She turned, hearing John's voice issuing orders from the control room before striding down to her.

"You–"

"Here." He handed her an earpiece. "Foot?"

"Fine." She slipped on the comm unit, turned as the wormhole engaged. She fumbled with the data pad in her hands, suddenly nervous. "Um, John...you–"

"Later, Moira. Stay close." He led her into the wormhole. Once through the 'Gate he tapped his earpiece, swinging up his P90 in one fluid motion. "Reynolds, copy? Reynolds? Ow!" He pulled the unit off his ear, put it back with a scowl. "Loud, piercing static!"

"Could be ionic interference," she suggested, but sounded doubtful as she eyed the gray sky. Flashes of blue lightning flickered. "How far?"

"Half a klick. This way."

They walked in silence. Each absorbed in their own thoughts. Of the mission. Of each other. John cradled his P90 in his arms, gaze darting everywhere again. Searching for any possible threat. Listening for any incursion. Very aware of Moira next to him. He glanced at her. Moira was carrying her data pad under one arm, eyes on the rocky ground as she walked. Her other arm at her side, as if ready to grab him if she slipped. A wind buffeted them. Messing John's hair and making Moira's ponytail fly all over. "Do you need–"

"Help? No." She stumbled as they descended a hill. The shoe on her injured foot felt awkward, tight, but she kept her footing.

"Look, um, Moira. I...I'm sorry." She was silent. "About what happened." She didn't say a word, kept her gaze on the ground, on her feet. Navigating around rocks protruding from the dirt, the short grasses. "The second time." He waited. "The second time we had–"

"Sex?" she finished for him. "Or when you tied me up?"

"The sex," he clarified. "Not for tying you up. Look, I don't know...I mean..." He paused, tried again, feeling slightly duplicitous because he did know some of the reasons for his uncouth actions. Attitude. "I don't know exactly what came over me. To, um, take...to take you. Like that. Like that. I, um, look, it's not as if you didn't enjoy it, so..." Her silence unnerved him. He caught her arm, stopping her. "Moira, please. I didn't mean those things I said. I don't even know why I said them," he continued, gaze lowering to their feet as the lie slid easily from his lips. He met her gaze. "I don't ever want to hurt you. You know that. You're more to me than just, just–"

"Sex?" she repeated, clearly not believing him. "I know, John. That's why."

"Why? Why what?"

"You tell me." She tried to move but he kept her in place.

"Moira?" He touched her rosy cheek. Gently, very gently kissed her lips. "I'm sorry. I...I love you, Moira, I do...I just...I..." he faltered, sighed. "I don't know what came over me, that second time. I mean not just the, the...not just...it wasn't just me," he defended.

"I know." She resumed walking, gently freeing her arm from his grasp. Her gaze from his.

"You, well good! Good that you know!" He followed after her. "Know what?"

She briefly smiled. "That is wasn't entirely your fault. Or mine. That you weren't exactly yourself...were you?"

"No! I mean, well...yeah...some...some." He strolled beside her. Feeling the unusual need to explain, to fill in the heavy silences. "I mean...the way I treated you, the way I...the things I said and stuff. I was that guy...but not with you. I don't want to be with you. No, I didn't mean it like that, I meant I don't want to be that way with...oh fuck this! Moira, you know what I mean! I'm not good at this!"

"I know," she stated. Taking pity on his flustered floundering.

"Okay, okay, you know. You know," he said, sounding relieved. But he frowned, still feeling her coolness. Almost scientific detachment. "What is it that you know, exactly?"

"I know why you acted like that, why I did, at least from a physiological standpoint. Not the rest of it."

"And?" he prompted, becoming irritated by her short answers. Her seeming indifference.

"We were compelled. Our sexual desires were driven into a frenzy. You wanted not only sex but to mate with me. You were trying to impregnate me. Same as that sub-Wraith, although that was more of an incubation than an impregnation. This whole thing is about sexual reproduction. The enzyme. The bugs. But the thing that came out of my foot has several genetic anomalies. Hence its accelerated growth and possible psychic influences. It contains several conflicting DNA strands. Maybe even your retro-virus but most definitely my human DNA. It shouldn't exist but it does. Feeding off of us, our energies, drawing on our sexual energies to accelerate itself. Who knows what it's feeding on now?" She suddenly noticed she was alone. Turned. "John?"

John was standing several feet away from her. Frozen in his tracks. Staring. Seemingly in shock, as if a brick had hit him. Silent. Grasping his P90 tightly, as if to defend himself.

Moira frowned, walked back to him. "John? Hello? We have to reach the Alpha base, right? Come on!" She led him but stopped, turned again. He hadn't moved. "John!"

He shook his head. "I...I was trying to, to, to make you pregnant?" he slowly, slowly asked. As if dazed by the very idea.

"Yes. Subconsciously, underneath the sex drive there was the instinct to mate. Like the bug. As for the rest of your charming behavior, that was all you, John. Come on, would you?" She turned, headed down the pathway.

John forced his emotions aside. Followed. "I wasn't! I just wanted...I just needed..."

"To fuck me. Yes, John, I know, but also to mate. It wasn't your fault, not entirely."

"Moira, I swear! I wasn't trying to–" John persisted, as if he hadn't heard her.

"I know, John. Don't you see?" She sighed. "It's the prime motivation. To continue the species. To mate. In the case of the sub-Wraith they apparently rely on more insect-like reproductive methods, but advance to a more human physiology, or rather the drive does. It's almost a cellular evolution, an adaptation to a particular–"

"Stop!" He caught her arm suddenly, raised his gun. "Reynolds, copy? Reynolds? Ow!" He moved in front of her. Proceeded cautiously, pushing aside her disturbing information. The camp was in view. So was a marine on the ground. Unmoving. John scanned the area. Listened. Heard only the wind moaning in the desolate trees. He ran. Crouched next to his fallen comrade, felt for a pulse. Relieved to find one. "He's alive! Just knocked out."

"So is he." Moira had followed and was kneeling by another fallen marine. "Carson!" She rose, ran awkwardly to the tent.

"Moira!" John followed on her heels.


	2. Chapter 2

Specialization2

Moira stumbled into the tent, nearly falling over some broken equipment. She saw Carson lying on the ground. "Carson!" She hastened to him, knelt. Set the data pad aside. "He's alive! What happened to them? John?"

"Reynolds." John stood, stepped away from the fallen marine. He stepped round the broken equipment. Glass crunched under his boots. He stared at the smashed container. The empty, horribly large gooey sac. "Looks like it emerged. And it's big. Really big." He snatched a handgun from the prone man, shoved it into her hands. "Here! Just in case."

"What? That's not possible!" Moira joined him, taking the gun without argument. She stuffed it into the back of her pants, winced at the gross mess. "Carson said it was dormant! And to grow to the size of, of..." She looked round the tent. "John...how many? How many men were stationed here?" she asked, as the terrible thought dropped.

John met her gaze, realizing the same thing. "Shit. Four were–"

A piercing wail cut off his words. Moira cringed, covering her ears. John did the same as the sound tore into his ears, into his brain with painful accuracy. Catching sight of something from the corner of his eye he turned as a large shape flew into him. He fired off a shot before being hurled across the tent. He smashed to the ground, writhing as the sound became unbearable.

"John!" Moira fell, clutching her ears, trying to see the bi-pedal creature towering over her. Stooping towards her. The pain flooded her head, blurring her vision until she passed out.

* * *

John woke. Groggy. He was upright. He blinked, spit out some blood. He tried to move. Looked up to see his arms pinned above his head. Wrists tightly enmeshed in a thick, viscous binding. Like a fibrous cocoon but stronger. Much stronger as he struggled in vain. He looked down to find his legs splayed apart. Each ankle trapped like his wrists.

He pulled. Twisted. Contorted his torso, hips, knees to find some motion, any motion, but he couldn't budge. He looked around. He was stuck in an alcove, in a cave dimly lit by phosphorescent greens and oranges. He stared. A body lay a foot away from him. His heart hammered. "Moira," he croaked. "Moira?"

But the body groaned. The head turned. John sagged in relief. "Jacobs? Jacobs, get up! Jacobs, can you hear me?" John struggled uselessly against his bonds. He froze. Shadows fell across the cave walls. A shifting, snorting noise. Then a creature emerged.

A creature straight out of a nightmare.

* * *

Moira stirred, moaned as pain ebbed in her head. In her foot. She slowly moved to a seated position, staring round. She was in a cave. It was dark. Spooky. The only sound was water dripping somewhere. Drip. Drip. Drip. Echoing off the rock walls. "John?" She squinted, trying to see in the darkness. Dim light drew her as it was barely visible down a tunnel.

She scooted her hand along the rocks, trying to move to her feet. She paused. Felt something sticky. Grimacing she looked at her hand. Peered close at the dark liquid. Drew it close. Closer. It wasn't blood. It was a sickly, slimy substance. Similar to the liquid in the sac. "Ew!" She hastily wiped her hand on her pants, scrambled to stand. "John!" she called, but her voice bounced off the walls and back to her.

She stood. Began to limp towards the dim light. Following the sound of the water. Every step painful. Every emotion strained as she feared for John. The sound grew louder, drawing her. The dim light was a little brighter. Lichen crawling on the walls.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Except it wasn't water dripping.

* * *

John stared in horrified disgust. Swallowing past the bile rising from his gut as the bi-pedal creature shuffled towards the prone but conscious body of Jacobs.

It was a thing of horror. Hunched over, bony shoulders protruding. A strange, gruesome amalgamation of Wraith and human. Sub-Wraith and Iratus bug. As if someone had mixed all of the genetic sequences into one living creature. Half of its body was arthropod. Antennae waved from a misshapen head. Claws were on one hand. Sharp nails on the other. Part of a carapace lined its back. But a bluish skin scaled its legs, reminding John of how he had appeared when the retro-virus raged in his system.

Half of its body was human. A perfect female breast bounced. Next to a scarred, scabbed, almost reptilian protrusions. The eyes a deep, deep brown, so like Moira's John jerked in sickened recognition. Lanky strands of brown hair were scattered on the mostly bald head. As it turned to be directly facing him John saw that there was no doubt the thing was female.

The creature bent near Jacobs. He was stammering in sheer terror. Frozen in place, although his bladder emptied into his pants. A vibration hit John's ears. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Squinted. Opened his eyes to see Jacobs suddenly relaxing. Smiling. As the monstrosity lowered onto him. Straddling him.

"No! No, Jacobs! It's not what you see! It's not what it appears to be! Jacobs!" John uselessly shouted. He struggled in his bonds but was trapped. Caught like an insect in a web.

The creature ripped at Jacobs. Tore at his pants. Then to John's horror began to use its human hand to fondle, to caress the growing erection trapped in the tattered cloth. Straddled the man in a mock imitation of sex. Except it wasn't quite working, as if the creature hadn't entirely developed along those lines. John winced, struggled. Had to look away before he threw up. He returned his gaze to Jacobs. The creature was mounting him, riding him. Making horrid noises as if in imitation of a woman caught in sexual excitement. Except no human could make those screeching noises. Jacobs bucked underneath it, smiling, as if he was enjoying what he felt, what he saw riding him.

"No! No! Jacobs! Jacobs! Stop! It's not a woman! Stop!" John shouted. His voice sounding hoarse, tinged with disgust, with dread, with fear as the thing glanced at him. Those familiar brown eyes searing into him. He had to shut his eyes as a buzzing erupted. He opened them hearing Jacobs sudden scream. The sound rising, rising to a sheer, high pitch of pure panic. Pure terror.

The creature ripped open Jacobs's shirt. Leaned close, sliding off the now flaccid erection. It pressed its palm and fed, fed. Draining the life from the hapless marine. Aging him in minutes. His prolonged scream faded to a dry rasp. The creature snorted. Clawed and ripped at the body. Ripped off the sexual organs and devoured them.

The creature looked at John. Chittering. Blood and gore dripping from its jagged mouth.

John bit his lip, hard enough to make it bleed. He looked away, forcing back his own scream. Knowing with utter despair that he was next. And there was nothing he could do.

Nothing.

* * *

Moira froze, shoes slipping on liquid. The rocks were slick with it. She didn't notice as her gaze was riveted on the rocks above her. She had found the source of the dripping.

Flung onto the stony protrusions were sacs. Depleted, elongated fibers that were dripping various liquids. They reminded Moira of skins shed by snakes. Each one larger than the last. Each one resembling a bi-pedal creature. Moira could almost track its evolution, its rapid growth skin by skin. Sac by sac. The dripping liquids were thick. Smelled sour.

The stench made her gag and she moved on, revulsion overcoming fascination. Worry for John superseding all other concerns, interests. "John!" she called. Her voice bouncing again from wall to wall. The ground sloped, and Moira found herself accelerating beyond her control.

Moira fell. She landed on the rocks hard, winced and swore as she skinned her knee. Felt the abrasion through her pants. Felt the skin tear. The blood ooze. A man's screams echoed, echoed. She froze, almost forgetting to breath. Blood freezing in her veins. She couldn't move, couldn't think. Until she forced herself to her feet. "John, John, no, no, it can't be! It can't be!" she pleaded, voice shaking. "John! John! Oh God, oh God, no! John!" she cried, looking around frantically.

Several tunnels branched out from her location. The sounds were everywhere, and she didn't know which way to go, which way to turn. Fear immobilized her again, the raw indecision painful. The fear she would make the wrong decision. Her heart raced.

Suddenly she tapped her earpiece, just remembering it. "John! John," she calmed her voice. "Sweetie? Sweetie, copy, please! Please respond!"

She waited. Her heartbeat loud in her ears. Waited.

Waited.

* * *

John turned his head. Moira's voice in his ear was like an answered prayer. A blessing. "Moira. Baby, baby, copy!" he rasped. Could have wept from sheer relief that she was alive, was fine. Was able to speak to him.

"John? Thank God! Where–"

"I'm trapped! Moira, Moira, that, that thing is oh shit, shit! Moira!" He watched the creature shuffle towards him. The strange parody of Moira's limp unsettling.

"John? What's happening? John!" Moira chose a tunnel, began to awkwardly run. "Keep talking! I'm coming! I'm coming! I've got the gun! John, what's happening?"

"Hurry, Moira, hurry!" he urged, struggling frantically now as the creature got closer. Closer. Chittering at him. Baleful brown eyes on him. Roving up and down his body. "Fuck off!" he shouted. "Moira, Moira, if you don't make it in time just shoot me! Shoot me!"

"No!" she objected, honing in on his voice as it grew louder. As weird insect sounds echoed, drawing her towards her goal. "I'm coming, John! Hold on! What's happening!" The rising panic in his tone made her race, made her ignore the pain lacing her foot like fire now.

"God help me," John muttered. "Moira, just shoot me! Just shoot me when you get here! Shoot me!" he urged. He struggled violently as the creature touched him. A claw running delicately down his cheek. Down his chest. The human hand touching his waist. "Oh shit, shit! Fuck off! Fuck off!" He tried to swing away from it. Swing out of its reach but it came closer, closer. The malformed face a hideous parody. Moira's eyes gazing at him from the monster.

A buzzing filled his ears and he winced in pain. In panic. Fighting, fighting. He shut his eyes as the sound filled his head, lacerated his brain with throbbing arcs until he opened his eyes. Tears sparkled. He stared. Moira stood in front of him. Naked. Dripping wet, drenched head to toes. Water dripping from her tangled hair. From her hard, rosy nipples. From between her legs. She yanked his pants and shorts down, down. Popping the buttons. Wrenching the zipper. Her hand ran along the length of him. She kneeled. Moved closer. Closer.

John gulped. Thrashed. Closed his eyes tightly. "No! No, no, no! It's not real! You're not her! You're not her! You won't get it up that way you fucking bitch!" he snarled. Opened his eyes. But it was still Moira. Naked. Wet. Hands caressing. A wet, sucking motion from her mouth as she licked along his cock. Took it in as it betrayed him. Reacting despite himself. "Moira!" he shouted. Trying to thrash, pulling hard on his wrists but the bonds tightened. Nearly cutting off his circulation.

Moira heard John's anguished cry of her name. A last, desperate plea. "John! John!" She sprinted towards the sound. Into the cavern. Not stopping as her eyes took in the dead, dismembered body of an old man. The blood pooling all around him. Of John trapped and bound in an alcove of rocks. Of a bizarre, horrifying creature kneeling in front of him. "Go right!" she shouted. Raised the gun. Fired.

John swung his body but swore as a claw gouged his thigh. Perilously close to his balls before the creature whirled, hissing. The illusion dropped as it turned. The bullet had scraped the carapace but had been unable to penetrate the hard shell.

Moira froze, staring in utter horror at the mishmash of genetic material.

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" John shouted, struggling weakly.

Moira fired, fired. Advancing but the creature emitted a high-pitched scream. It spun. Fled rapidly down one of the tunnels. Blood was streaming from its human arm. Moira followed, firing again but stopped. Losing sight of the monster. She whirled, ran to John but stopped again. Staring at his disheveled appearance. His pants and shorts around his bound ankles. The blood on his thigh. "John? John!"

"Moira..." he croaked, appalled and embarrassed to be found like this. "My knife..."

She ran, closing the distance between them. Set the gun down. Crouched to retrieve his knife from the ground. She moved close. Closer. "Hold still," she said gently. Her breath warm on his cold skin. She cut into the rough, fibrous bonds. Sawed to free his wrist. He grabbed the wall, nearly falling as she freed the other. Then knelt, freed one ankle, then the next. She scrambled to her feet. Hugged him. "John! John, you've been hurt! Here!"

She guided him out of the alcove. He collapsed onto the ground. Unable to catch his breath a moment as sheer relief overwhelmed him. He moaned. Ran his hands down to check his body as she cut a long strip of cloth from her shirt with his knife. He pulled up his shorts, struggling.

"Moira," he whispered. Her name to calm him. To center him.

"Ssh. Here. Let me do this first, colonel. Keep watch." She handed him the gun. Knew the feel of the weapon would help center him, calm him. She wiped the wound, wishing she had some water. She gently turned his leg, his thigh. "It's not bad. A superficial wound, not too deep." She pressed the cloth to it, held it a moment to stem the flow of blood. "John," she said slowly, voice soft, "do you want me to check?"

"No! Yes...no...oh God... Moira...it tried...it...it dug into my brain and gave me the illusion of you, of you...of my most sexual fantasy of you, of you..." He was stammering.

"Ssh," she stroked his face. "John, it's all right now." She wrapped the wound, inadvertently brushed against his slight hardness. He moaned, rolled onto his side in shame. In dread. He awkwardly checked himself, yanked up his pants. Tense. Angry. Horrified.

Moira looked at the dead body, saw the aging. The mutilation. Winced. Forced a calm she didn't feel. Knew she had to be strong. For John. She turned back to him. He was sitting now, clutching the gun, staring at nothing. She touched his arm. He almost jumped. Met her gaze. "John." She scooted closer. Lightly kissed him. "It's all right now. You're okay now. You're fine. Shall I tell you what happened?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice. Her hand on his arm warm. Reassuring. Her eyes full of concern, love. Her voice calm. Soft. "It's a female. Apparently it used that poor man and wanted to use you to fertilize its eggs. Then it would have implanted them in me. To incubate. It was incomplete, could not do it itself. John, you saved me. Saved me from that. You were strong. You saw through its illusion and you were stronger." She touched his face. Gently caressed, afraid he was going into shock. Brilliant green eyes large, staring. "I love you, John. I love you." She lightly kissed him. "It's all right."

He calmed some. Under her explanation, however horrid. Under her care. "I...I don't think I ever want to have sex again," he commented. Voice terse. A little shaky.

She stood. Pulled him with her to his feet. "John, I need you to be the colonel now. All right? We can't leave just yet. Your men are helpless back there. So is Carson. We can't let that thing escape back to them. We have to kill it now. Here. I need the colonel to help me with this. John? Do you hear me?"

He nodded. Reined in his emotions. Stepped past her to retrieve the P90 on the ground. Handed it to her. "Which way?" His voice was steady. Quiet.

"This way." She took his free hand, entwined her fingers with his. Led him down the tunnel the creature had chosen. "Focus, colonel. You need to kill this thing. To save your men. To save Carson. To save me."

"Moira." He followed her. Moved ahead of her as he stopped thinking, stopped feeling. As his training took over. Took him to the place he needed to be. He stopped. Listened. Looked. Letting his instinct take control. That cold, rational part of him. The ruthless part. He gestured.

"I'll be the bait. You don't hesitate to shoot. Don't hesitate."

"I won't," she assured.

He took a deep breath. Exhaled. Moved ahead of her down a tunnel. His steps slow but steady. Echoing off the walls. His breathing slowing, calming. His heart hammering in his chest.

Moira waited. Waited. Adjusted the heavy gun in her hands. Braced herself and followed. Ignoring the pain in her foot. Keeping her distance. Trapping her emotions tightly, burying them. Burying the pain that every step gave her. Clutching the gun tightly.

John glanced over his shoulder once. Making sure she was following. She was armed. She had his back. He looked ahead of him. Step by step. Pain stung his thigh. He ignored it. Pain laced his wrists, his ankles like circles. He ignored it. He swallowed but his mouth was dry.

He turned the corner. Took a step.

The creature lunged.


	3. Chapter 3

Specialization3

John spun with the blow, grip tight on the handgun as he was violently knocked to the ground. He rolled, grabbed his knife and plunged it into the creature's abdomen. The welcome sound of gunfire erupted as Moira ran, froze, fired the P90. Bullets flew, peppering the creature, the walls, the ground. John scrunched himself into a ball to present the smallest possible target. The creature was thrown off him, scrabbled to one side, chittering wildly.

John rolled, sprang to his feet. "Moira!" he ordered, flipping the handgun to her. She tossed him the P90, caught the handgun. He whirled as the creature began to emit a piercing cry, lunging towards him. John fired the weapon, aiming for the head, then the chest. Deadly accuracy making blood and yellow fluids spurt. He stumbled backwards, kept firing as the creature squealed. It was an almost pitiful sound. Almost, as John paused only to load another clip. He resumed firing. Ripping it to pieces as it fell to the ground in a pulpy mess.

Moira stood, watching, grip firm on the handgun in case it was needed. She waited as John emptied the clip into the twitching beast. Reloaded and resumed firing again. Reminded of how she had needed to kill the Wraith queen over and over after being abducted and tortured she did not interfere. Did not intervene. Silently waited.

Once the clip was empty John reloaded the P90 again. But did not fire. He stood still. Staring down at the dead monster at his feet. Shredded, pulverized by bullets it was an unrecognizable mass of flesh and bone, of blood and gore. A stench wafted up from the torn entrails. He felt the urge to vomit. Forced it back.

Moira cautiously approached. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "It's dead, John. You killed it. You saved us. You saved me."

He lowered the weapon. Stepped away from it. Looked away from it. Clamping down on his emotions. Reactions. Moira stared at the remains. Horrified yet fascinated. She could discern the various genetic features, the strange amalgamation of different species. Wondered at the odd hybridization. Shuddered.

Moira crouched by the corpse. Staring. Covering her mouth and nose as the stench made her stomach clench. "It shed skin...skin after skin...growing at a rate that shouldn't be possible." She knew she should take samples, but couldn't bring herself to touch it, much less examine it more closely. She stared at the human limb protruding amid the mess.

"Moira."

His quiet voice drew her. She turned. John stood, face pale. Haggard. Arm outstretched. Hand open. She moved to him. Hugged him tightly. "John."

He embraced her, closed his eyes a moment. Her warmth real. Solid. "My Moira," he breathed into her hair. Freed her. "Let's go." He stepped back, frowned as his gaze ran over her. Stopped at her leg. At her knee. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing. I scraped my knee when I fell. Lead us out of here, John."

He nodded. Led her through the tunnels. Following the trails of blood that marked their passage. That marked the passage of Jacobs and the creature. They stepped out of the cave onto a hilly landscape. He surveyed the area, determining direction. The wind blew harshly.

Moira watched him, felt a shiver as the wind whipped at her clothes, at her hair. She touched his arm. "John." She gently kissed him. "Are you sure you're all right? The cut on your thigh and your um, your um, your ordnance?" She felt a blush warming her cheeks.

He nodded, not trusting his voice. But said, "Everything's okay. Um, fine. This way." He led her along the yawning mouth of the cave. Then up a rocky incline. He noticed her limping gait. "Take my arm," he instructed. She did so, stumbling after him. He tapped his earpiece. "Reynolds, copy? This is Sheppard. Reynolds, do you read? Beckett?"

"Sir? Colonel Sheppard?" came a static-filled, groggy voice. "Sir, what's your twenty?"

John felt some tension unwind. "Hell if I know," he muttered. "Hang on, major." He procured a pair of binoculars, peered across the distances. "About two or three klicks out of range. Status?"

"Something hit us, sir. An audible screeching that knocked us all insensate. I think, I think the cocoon was opening. The thing's gone, sir! As is Jacobs!"

"The thing is dead, major. As is Jacobs," John grimly informed.

"Oh." A pause. "Doctor Beckett and the others are just coming round, sir. No other casualties. Orders, sir?"

"Wait for us. Then we're going home. Sheppard out." He stopped suddenly, looking round. Gaze narrowing. "What did you say? About skin?"

"Skin? Oh...it, it shed skins. Like a snake. Each one was progressively larger. I've never seen such rapid growth in any living creature! It's unprecedented! I have no idea what could have triggered that."

"Specialization."

Moira had freed his arm. Had crouched to adjust her shoe as her foot ached, ached. She looked up at him but he was studying the terrain again. "What?" She stared at him. He was completely still. Gaze roving everywhere. Expression serious, haggard. Gripping his P90 a little too tightly. Blood stained his pants.

"You tell me. I'm no zoologist," he quipped. But he frowned. Tensing. "You are certain there was only one of those things, right?"

"What?" Startled she looked round, still crouched on the ground, rubbing her foot. "Yes. Only one. One creature. Which you killed back in the cave. Only one. There's only one, John."

"All right." John watched her. The way her long hair slid across her back. The way her snug khakis hugged her rear. She stood, turned her foot this way and that, wincing. She looked at him. Saw his assessing gaze. "What?"

"Can you make two or three klicks, Moira?"

"Yes. Let's go." She limped ahead of him but he gently caught her arm, stopping her.

"Moira, I..." He hesitated as she turned to him. He looked at the rocky ground. "Look, um...when we get back...about what, what happened...I..."

"Okay, John. You can trust me. Don't you worry. No one else needs to know the details."

He met her somber gaze. Grateful. "Thanks." But he didn't free her arm. Looked away again. "Um, Moira....I..."

"It's all right, John. Let's go." She took his arm, led him across the scrubby ground. "Do you want to talk about it?" she inquired.

"No."

"Okay. Well, if you do I'm here for you, John." She sighed, felt tears. "I'm so sorry!"

"It wasn't your fault, Moira."

"It was! It was!"

"No. You...you saved me. You saved my life, Moira. Shit, you saved my sanity." He suppressed a shiver, forced the horrible memories aside. "Moira. Don't you leave my side," he quietly requested.

"Whatever you need, John," she assured, grasp tightening on his arm.

They walked in silence. Slowly closing the distance between themselves and the camp. Each lost in their own thoughts. Their own worries. Memories. Pain. John forcing down all the emotion, all the horror. Glancing at Moira, wondering if she thought less of him, seeing his weakness. Moira was concentrating on her footing, to avoid the stress of guilt, of worry. Wondering if John would blame her for what had happened.

Moira stumbled. "Wait, please!" She freed John's arm, sank to the ground. Sitting, sliding her knees up to her chest. She pressed her hand to her foot, biting her lip as the pain flooded. "Go on ahead of me, John. I need to rest. Go."

"Yeah, right." He sat next to her, winced as he stretched out his cut leg. He set the gun across his lap, in easy reach. "Five. Then we have to keep moving, Moira. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks." She stared at the blue hills in the distance. Back towards the cave. "Specialization. You said. That could explain some it...its behavior, but not its rapid growth. Evolution just doesn't happen that swiftly."

"Well, we are in another galaxy," he reminded. "Where these kinds of things do exist."

"True." She frowned, thinking. "It did adapt very quickly to this environment, once it was free of the cocoon. Sought a safer place to grow. To develop. Sought a, a food source..." She winced at the memory. "I'm so sorry, John! Your man...you..."

"Yeah. Me too." He looked away from her. Uncomfortable. "I saw. How he died. I...I would rather have you shoot me than to die like that." He licked his lips. Staring at nothing. His fingers straying across the solid surety of the gun.

She briefly touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry, John. About what you endured. What you saw." Her hand fell away from him and she eyed the rocky ground. Guilty. Anxious.

John stood. "Let's go. Can you walk now?"

"Yes." She stood as he caught her arm, helped her to her feet. "John...if you want to talk about it, about what you–"

"No. Let's move, Moira."

They resumed their journey. Once more locked in silence. The wind wailing around them, tearing with harsh fingers at their clothes, at their hair. John tensed, as the memories surfaced. The horrible fate of Jacobs. The utter despair. The feeling of helplessness. He scowled, angry at having been reminded. Shoved it all aside, into a dark recess. Moira was pondering the creature's rapid development. She glanced at John, worrying. His silence. His frown. Knew he had to talk about it before it swallowed him. Or worse, came between them.

Moira stumbled, bit back a moan as her foot twisted. John's arm slid round her waist. Pulling her close to him, supporting her as they walked. Ignoring the pain flaring in his thigh as he guided her along the rocky ground. Shielding her from the bitter wind that send chills along his bare skin, along his sore, weary body. Moira leaned into his body, couldn't help herself as she needed the support. Needed that long, lean warmth pressed into her.

"Hang onto me, Moira. We're almost there. Almost there now. See the tent?"

"I..John, go ahead of me. I can't..." she stammered, tears spotting her vision as the pain flared. Yet she clung to him.

"You can make it, sweetheart. Do I need to carry you?"

"No! No, you can't. I...I can make it," she said. Forcing each step in line with his.

"Colonel Sheppard!" Jason ran towards him, stared as Moira straightened, freeing him. But even as John's arm slid from her waist he grasped her wrist, keeping her next to him. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Fine. Let's go! Dial the 'Gate." His gaze flew past him to see the two other marines standing near the tent. The expression of relief on their faces almost palpable.

"Moira? Moira!" Carson hastened to her. "Are you all right, love? John, you..." Carson stared. "You've both been injured! Let me–"

"It's fine," Moira assured, "but John–"

"It's fine," he tersely repeated her words.

"No, colonel, it is clearly not fine! Let me at least take a look before we–" Carson offered, stepping towards him.

"I said no," John commanded bitterly. Finding a focus for the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Anger he would not direct toward Moira. Could not, after what she had done for him.

Moira stepped in front of John. Protective. "It's not bad, Carson. Just a superficial cut. I only scraped my knee. Both will be fine until we get home."

"Cut? I will still need to see it. How–"

"John saved me," Moira quickly stated. "Saved me from that, that thing. But it attacked him. Cut him, but as I said the wounds are only superficial." She glanced over her shoulder at John.

He met her gaze, grateful. Loving her so much in that one moment.

Carson looked from one to the other. "Very well. It can wait until we get home. I've got your data pad, Moira. What happened to you both?"

"The thing attacked. We woke up in a cave a few yards back," she vaguely pointed, "and it, it fed upon Jacobs. Then it was going to feed on me but John broke free of his bonds and saved me. He killed it."

John's gaze was fastened on Moira. So grateful, so full of love, admiration he couldn't speak. His fingers tightened slightly on her wrist. "Let's go," he managed to say. Led her towards the 'Gate as the wormhole engaged.

Carson followed, suspicious, but kept silent. Noting their locked grasp. Their injuries. Their shocked expressions underneath the seeming calm. The seeming normalcy. But a thread of horror, of dismay ran just beneath the surface. "All right, but once we are in Atlantis both of you are reporting to the infirmary immediately! And I won't take no for an answer, colonel!"


	4. Chapter 4

Specialization4

"No." John stood in the infirmary. Stance a bit awkward as his thigh stung with pain. Arms folded across his chest. Tension roiling in his stomach, along every nerve. He pursed his lips together, gaze narrowing. Refusing. Not budging.

Carson sighed, shook his head at the recalcitrant colonel. "Clearly you are not fine, John. You've been injured! God knows what you've been through! Now get yourself over to the–"

"No." One word. Quietly spoken, but the weight of absolute authority behind it.

Moira rose from the chair she had been slouched upon. She limped to him, took his arm. "John, please. You need antiseptic on your cut. I'll help you, all right? Will you let me?"

He slowly met her gaze. Saw her worry, her weariness. Her own pain pushed aside for his. He briskly nodded. "Only you. Here." He guided her toward a private room. "How's the foot?"

She was silent. Trying to steel herself against the inevitable onslaught of emotion. His kind concern only made her guilt worse. She paused, turned. "Carson, I need a kit. Carson?"

The doctor was staring at them. An assessing, suspicious gaze. "You need to get off that foot of yours, Moira, before I have to operate again! John, I need to see this cut and any other injuries!" At his silence Carson swore, moved to block their progress. "What the bloody hell is wrong with the pair of you? What happened to you in that cave? John, you look like hell! I've never seen you look this pale and haunted! Moira, you are in obvious agony but won't let me–"

"What do you expect, Carson?" she flared. "After seeing that thing!" Moira's control was slipping as her foot ached. "Look what we've done! We caused this! If we had just let John kill that thing when he wanted to none of this would have happened! Jacobs would still be alive! And John wouldn't have had to endure, to fight that thing and save me! He shouldn't have had to save me, to risk his life!" she stammered.

"I know. I'm sorry, truly. Even though we were under some kind of influence there is no excuse for what happened. And to be honest, it wasn't really the influence as much as the sheer science of discovering a new life form. A creature that had an enlarged pituitary gland that secreted an excess of growth hormones, stimulating its cell division and protein synthesis in the tissues. I believe that is why it grew so swiftly."

"Oh."

"Damn right there's no excuse!" John flared, as Moira seemed appeased by the science. John was not. He stepped in front of Moira, as if he needed to protect her. "What the hell were you thinking, Carson? Even under that thing's control, even under the lure of fucking science you should have realized its rapid growth could only mean disaster! Thank God I had it transferred to the Alpha site or who knows what could have happened! How many lives could have been lost because you fucking scientists just can't leave well enough alone?" He pointed, anger in full flow now. "Next time we have a foreign entity like that I am going to kill it! And no one is going to stop me! No one! Do I make myself clear?" he asked, voice going soft. Dangerous. Every line of his body tense.

"Fair enough, John," Carson agreed. "I'm sorry. Moira and I were both blinded by–"

"No! You don't dare bring Moira into this! It was none of her doing!"

"John," she tried to calm him, stepping to his side.

"That fucking thing was in her foot! It could have killed her! But you saved it! To study it! To fucking study it! This falls on your shoulders, doc! Not hers!"

"John, I'm just as guilty," she sadly noted. Touched his arm. "I'm sorry, John! I'm so very sorry, so sorry..." Her voice hitched as emotion, guilt choked her.

John touched her arm. "No, Moira. Not you."

"I'm just as culpable, John! I caused what could have happened to, to, to you...to...John...if I had caused...oh God, I..."

"No, honey. You saved me," he murmured, trying to draw her close to comfort. To soothe.

She stumbled away from him. "No, no!" She wiped her eyes, took a trembling breath, released it. "I'm sorry, John...I...I can be strong. Carson, give me what I need to tend John's cut." She pointed to the private rooms. "Find a room there, John."

"Moira–"

"Trust me, John, please."

He nodded. Moved to the back. A slight limp marring his motions.

"Moira, love, what–"

"The kit. Now. Please," she stated. Forcing a calm onto herself. Submerging the horror, the guilt. The darkness clawing at her.

John stood in the small room. Staring at nothing again. Trying to relax. Having vented his anger he found he couldn't quite stop. Still felt the fury. The raw fury at what had happened. To Jacobs. Almost to himself. His confidence shaken by the despair, the helplessness he had felt. The utter shame of what the creature had done to him, had tried to do. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. Willing himself to bury it. Bury it all.

He turned as Moira entered, medical kit in her hand. She closed the door, limped to the counter and set it down. "Don't you worry, John, I didn't say–"

"I know. I trust you, Moira." He could almost see the guilt weighing on her. He stepped to her, spun her to face him. Pulled her into his arms, kissing her brow. "Sweetheart, you are not to blame for any of this! Not you. Not ever."

Moira hid her face against his chest, shoulder. Tried to stem the tears burning behind her eyes. "John, John, I'm so sorry! So sorry, so sorry! If, if anything had happened to you I couldn't live with myself! I couldn't, I couldn't...I can't...I can't go through that again I can't I can't oh John, John I'm so sorry..." she muttered, the tide of words flowing.

"Ssh." He kissed her brow. "Not you. Never you, Moira. If not for you I'd..." He swallowed the thought. "Weren't you going to help me, sweetheart?"

"What? Oh." She drew back, wiped her face. "I need to be strong. I can be strong for you, John. Don't you need me to be strong? Don't you need me?" She was hovering on the brink of dissolving again.

"I need you, Moira," he assured quietly, sincerely. Realizing with a start just how much. Despite everything. Even his own reluctance to admit it to himself.

She moved to the kit. Opened it and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. "Okay, then. Pull down your pants and get on the bed, flyboy."

He smiled briefly. "Yes, ma'am." He pulled them down, winced. Got on the bed and reclined on his back. Stared up at the ceiling.

Moira moved to him. Touched his thigh gently. The wounds raw, red. Dried blood jagged on his skin. "Open your legs a little."

He smirked. "Isn't that my line?"

She briefly smiled. "Hilarious, John." She examined the cuts. "The dried blood has crusted on the makeshift bandage. This will hurt."

He frowned. "Great. Ow!" He moved as she cleaned the bandage, removed it carefully. Cleansed the wound. Added a saline solution that made him wince. Moan. "How's it look, doctor?" He propped himself up on his elbows to watch. Grimaced at the jagged cuts.

"Not bad. Three long scratches, not really cuts. You'll heal in no time. I'm going to apply antiseptic. This will sting."

He braced himself. Gritted his teeth. Endured the pain as she tended him. "Yeah, it did," he commented as she finished.

Moira applied a long bandage. Wrapping it round his thigh. Pushing the leg of his shorts up a little to wrap it round again. "There. If it looks any different tomorrow you must see Carson."

"Okay. Um...could you turn around for a minute, Moira? I want to...I want to check my, um, my ordnance under this light." He felt uncomfortable. Uncharacteristically shy. Embarrassed.

"Of course, John." She moved away, closing the kit and removing the gloves.

John opened his shorts, pulled them down, glancing up to see Moira's back still facing him. He checked himself carefully, making certain that all was well. That nothing was injured, or marked. He pulled up his shorts with a sigh of relief.

"Um...is everything okay?" she awkwardly asked. Staring at the wall. She felt a blush warm her cheeks.

"Yes. Thank you." He hunched over, feeling a burning spasm. "Moira, you need to leave for a minute. Please."

She whirled, concerned. "John?"

"I'm going to throw up. Go."

She handed him a bucket, quickly fled the room. Closing the door behind her she heard the sounds of his retching. She winced, feeling sick herself, but ignored it. She turned as Carson hastened to her, glanced past her to the door.

"Moira? Is John–"

"He'll be fine."

"Fine? He's–"

"Yes. Then he'll be fine. The cuts are just scratches. I cleansed them and applied antiseptic. He should probably take an antibiotic too, just in case."

Carson glanced at the door as more retching sounds emitted from the room. "Are you sure he's–"

"Fine," she repeated, blocking his access. "Trust me, Carson. It's a reaction to what he's been through. That's all. He's not sick. Not ill."

"Oh."

John wiped his mouth. Stood. Moved to the sink to drink some water. To swirl in around in his mouth. He spit. Repeated. Spit. He rubbed his eyes. Moved to the door, froze. Hearing voices. He pulled up his pants, listening.

"Carson," Moira was saying, "I need you to do this for him. Please. Make the debrief as short as possible. Don't go into any specifics about the, the creature. Not now. Only that it reacted defensively and tried to feed on us."

"All right, love. But we both know there's more to it than that. From the data you brought and mine plus the creature's nature we know what it was doing."

"Yes, and the two of us can discuss this later in private. But I won't tell you any specifics about the cave. I can't. Except that John saved me. And that it fed on Jacobs. Please, Carson, John needs this to be brief and very, very general. He needs to get out of those clothes and into a hot shower. And then to be by himself."

"All right, Moira," Carson assured. "I'm sure he needs the rest too. As do you. You don't look so good, love. Has that shot I've given you helped at all?"

"A, a little. Carson, my foot is killing me but it doesn't matter because what we caused to happen is so much worse! So much worse!"

The door opened. John caught Moira's arm, loving her for her protection. Her concern. All she was doing for him. "Let's get this over with so Moira can rest her foot. Oh, sorry," he indicated the room, shrugged. "Moira, can you walk?"

"Yes, John."

"Are you sure? I can always wheel you in a chair," he offered, leading her across the room.

"No. I'll walk."

"All right. We'll make this as short as possible. For both of us."

She met his gaze. "You–"

"Overheard? Yes. Moira," he said quietly, warmly. "It will make me feel worse if you keep blaming yourself. So don't."

"Stop! Stop being so nice to me! It makes me feel worse! Just stop, John! Stop!" She freed herself from his grasp. Limped ahead of him, almost stomping her injured foot. As if to punish herself for her culpability.

"Okay, Moira. I owe you everything. Everything." He followed after her.


	5. Chapter 5

Specialization5

John stood in his bathroom. Relieved. The debrief had been mercifully short. Carson had done most of the talking. Succinct answers followed very general questions. He stripped, got into the shower and made the water as hot as he could tolerate. He stood there a long time. Cleaning his body, his mind. Wishing he could clean his memories. Finally he emerged, toweled dry. Pulled on a faded navy t-shirt and gray sweat pants. He moved to his bed. Sat. Laid back, exhausted. Sore. But wide awake. Wished he was on Moira's more comfortable bed. Moira. He sighed.

A knock broke into his troubled thoughts. He sat. Glared at the door. "John? John?" Moira's nervous voice on the other side. He could imagine her worry. He moved to the door. Opened it. "I...I thought you could use this."

He smiled at the six-pack of beer she held. "God, yes. You know me so well. Please." He stepped aside, noting her loose, damp hair. The brown shirt. Brown pants. Over-sized fuzzy slippers instead of shoes.

"I...I thought you'd want to get shit-faced drunk, John. You're not hungry, are you?"

"No. Not at all. And yes, I desperately need to get shit-faced drunk. If only to sleep. By the bed," he directed, as she stood in the middle of the room.

She set the beer on the floor. Stood. Unable to move.

John stepped past her, sat on the bed. Grabbed a can, opened it and drank greedily. "Here." He patted the empty spot next to him. "How's your foot?"

"I...I really should, should go..." She started to back away from him.

"No. Here. Moira, please." He patted the mattress again. Waited.

She hesitated. Finally sat next to him. "Better," she answered his question. "The shot. And I took, I took a pill." She couldn't stop stammering for some reason.

"Ah. So no beer for you, then. Damn." He downed the rest. Started on the second can.

"John, do you, do you want to talk about, about it? About any of it?"

"No." He considered. "Not yet, anyway."

"Oh. Do you want me to leave?" She was staring at nothing. At everything except him.

"I want you to stay," he retorted. He touched her thigh. "My Moira. Can you at least have a sip of this? I hate to drink alone."

She met his gaze. "A sip." She took the can. Sipped. Sipped again. Made a face. "Ick. Here."

He smiled, drank the rest. Quick, long swallows. Tilting his head back, his neck. "You still don't like it?"

"No. Sorry." She eyed her foot again.

He started on the third, hand still resting on her thigh. As if to keep her there. "Honey, don't you go blaming yourself. I won't let you. Please. I don't want your guilt or your sorrow."

"I'm so sorry, John," she whispered.

"No!" His voice rose, nearly making her jump. He threw the empty can across the room. It bounced off the wall, fell to the floor. "Damn it, Moira! You weren't to blame! Not you! Never, never you! You've been my rock! Caring for me, protecting me, ensuring I'm left alone, not questioned, pestered, bothered! Fuck! You saved my very life and sanity, so stop fucking apologizing to me! Just stop!"

She shook her head. "I...you've done the same for me countless times, John. I'd do it again. I...I would rather die than have anything happen to you because of me, because of–"

"No!" He sighed. Grabbed the fourth beer and chugged it. Smacked his lips. "I can't even think about it. About what would have happened to me if not for you. You! That's not true, though. I do know. I saw. I saw it happen. To Jacobs."

She looked at him. His handsome, troubled profile. He finished the beer, started on the fifth. "You saw? You..." She timidly caught his free hand in hers. "John?"

"Yeah. I saw. It was...it was horrendous, Moira. And there was nothing I could...nothing I could do! I was bound fast in that stuff. That fiber or whatever the hell it was! I couldn't reach Jacobs. It was as if he didn't even hear me. Do you want to know what it did to him?"

"Tell me," she soothed as he drank, drank.

He sneered. "Oh, I'm sure you do. Want to know so you can analyze it. Add it to your fucking data!" His hand tightened on hers a moment. Relaxed. "Sorry. It...it gave him some sort of illusion, presumably like it gave me. To make him hard. To make him come. Only, only he couldn't...or wouldn't quite...so it broke the illusion. While it was straddling him, trying to fuck him. He screamed in terror and then it fed on him. Like a regular Wraith. Then it...it ripped off his cock and balls and, and ate them." He gulped. Closed his eyes with a shudder. Suppressed the urge to vomit all over again.

Moira stared at him. Her fingers entwining with his. Tightening her grasp. "Oh John...oh my God...you...I'm sorry, so–"

"Stop fucking apologizing to me! So tell me again what the fuck it was doing," he mildly suggested. Finished the beer. Grabbed the last one.

"It...it was an amalgamation of several species. Iratus bug, sub-Wraith, human. It needed a male to fertilize its eggs. And then a female for incubation of the larvae. It was such a genetic mishmash it was incomplete. Unfinished. But the drive to feed, to survive, to mate was as strong as ever. To perpetuate the species."

John opened his eyes. Met her forlorn, anxious gaze. "And it would have done the same to me. Hell, it fucking tried! It..." He looked at the floor. Felt a shame engulf him.

She kissed his hand. "But it didn't, John. And you are here now. With, with me. And that creature is dead. You killed it. There will never be another like it."

"Thank God," he murmured. Drank. Set the can aside. He scooted up the bed, stretching out his sore leg. The darkness hiding him. "Come here."

She hesitated. Felt a chill. She scooted up the bed, laid next to him. Carefully moving her foot. His arm encircled her. She snuggled against him. Stroked his chest. "John?"

"My Moira. Stay with me. I want you. I want you with me. Ugh...the beers are making me blurry. Woozy. Whatever..."

She lightly kissed him. "Sleep, honey. I'm here."

"Moira, this, this all stays between us, right?"

"Yes, John. Of course."

"Everything?"

"Yes. Everything."

"I just...I just can't...right now. I can't."

"It's all right, John. Don't you worry. It stays between us. Always."

"You...um...you don't look at me differently now? Do you? I mean...because...the way you found me...like that...I...um..reacted to that illusion of...you. Of how I want you to..." His words fell away into the awkward silence.

"Of course not, John!" She kissed him. A tender brushing of her lips on his cheek. "It wasn't your fault. None of it!"

"Okay, then. And it wasn't yours." He debated. Sighed.

She sat. Caressed his damp hair. "What is it, John?"

"I...I need you to um..." He hesitated.

"What? What do you need me to do?"

"I..." He reached up to touch her cheek. Drew her gently down to kiss her lips. To catch the strands of her hair in his fingers. "Moira, I don't want sex. Not that. And I don't want you to go, to go down on me. I just want..."

"What do you want, John?" she asked, both relieved and worried at his words. She kissed him lightly. Ran her mouth delicately along his jaw. Down his throat. Up to his ear. "What do you want, honey? You can tell me."

He relaxed under her concern, her care. Her love. "Moira." He hesitated.

She slowly ran her hand down his chest. Slipped her fingers under his shirt. Caressed down to his waist. Propped herself up on one elbow, on her side facing him. She withdrew her hand. Ran it carefully down to his crotch. "This? Do you want me to do this, John?"

"In."

She slipped her hand into the sweat pants. Felt only naked skin. "Oh." He briefly smiled at her surprise. She tenderly ran her hand along him. "Here?"

"Everywhere. I need...I need to feel you. You."

"All right." She lightly kissed him. Ran her fingers delicately over him. Along his thighs. Between his legs. She stopped as he groaned, shifted. "John?"

"Don't stop. Good groan. Not bad groan."

"Oh." She continued. Gently stroking. Up and down. Up and down. Soothing.

He relaxed, but tensed. "Moira, what if I...um...what if I can't get it up?" he asked, words slurring a little.

"You will, John. Not now, but soon. I promise."

"You do? Moira...what if I can't get it up? Would you leave me?" he asked, staring at her.

"No, John, don't be silly."

"I'm sherioush, Moira," he slurred. "I won't be the sex guy anymore. I'll just be the, the...guy," he faltered. Frowned in consternation. "Moira, I should be rock hard by now! I should be–"

"Easy, John." She kissed him. A loving kiss, taking his lips along hers. Guiding his mouth open to play her tongue briefly on his. "You will be, just not tonight. You've been through hell, John, and you are very drunk."

"Am I? Drunk? Very drunk?" he pondered. "Moira, you know what really, really pisses me off?"

"What?" she asked, still caressing.

"My fantasy is ruined. The one I had. The best, the hottest fantasy about you but now if I think of it I see that thing trying to suck my cock and...fuck it. So I can't have you like that now. And it was so fucking hot."

"Kinky, you mean, colonel," she gently chastised. "Don't you worry, John. You'll think of something just as kinky, just as hot, I have no doubt."

He smirked. "Yeah...I will. Do you want to know what it was?"

"No." She withdrew her hand. Kissed him. "Go to sleep, John."

"I want you, Moira. I want you to get it up for me." He pulled her down onto him, rolled so she was beneath him. He sloppily kissed her, shoved against her. "Moira...do you love me?"

"Yes, John, I love you. Now sleep." She stroked his hair, his shoulders as he settled upon her. Caressing a breast against the shirt.

"Moira, I want you," he repeated. "I want to give you everything. I didn't want you. I mean I did but I didn't...that's why I treated you like that...because you love me and I...I didn't want to be so fucking involved but I am and I do. I want..." He scooted up, kissing her throat. "You're my everything, Moira. I love you. Fuck it all but I do. When this is done we are going to Earth. Our planet Earth," he clarified.

"Earth? Why?" she asked, trying to follow his convoluted explanations. He scooted lower, hand sliding under her shirt to clasp a breast.

"Date."

"What?" she asked, shifting as his fingers fondled. Slid under the bra.

"Date. A proper date, Moira. You. Me. I'll wear my best suit. Or my Air Force blues. And you, you'll wear a dazzling, sexy dress. With a plunging neckline. No. Strapless. With a plunging neckline. No. Plunging down the back, open to that pert little ass. And a slit straight up to your hips. No. A skirt so short your pert little ass peeks out of it. And so short in front I get a glimpse of that sweet, sweet center when you sit down. And no panties. No panties, Moira! Got it?"

She smirked. "Got it, colonel."

"Good. And we'll go to a fancy, fashy reshraunt and eat the best food. No more of this cafeteria crap. Real food. And wine. No lemonade, baby. Wine. And then I'll give you whatever you desire, whatever you want. That tsavorite thingy. Then we'll go to the besh hotel and the besh, biggest bed. Not these fucking cots but a real big bed. And I'll give you the besh fucking orgasms of your life, baby, I swear. Okay, Moira?"

"Okay, John," she soothed. Amused.

"And flowers! Shit, I almost forgot! A room full of roses and roses for my Moira. I'll take you in roses, Moira, and strawberries. Suck every little bit." He moved against her, kissing her. "Are you ready, Moira? I want you wet. Moira, you can have anything you want. Anything you ever wanted I will lay at your feet. I'm going to, to..."

She waited, but his voice sputtered, stopped. He began to doze. "John?" She sighed, loving him. Caressing has he shifted, then fell into slumber. His weight pinned her but she didn't mind. Loved the feel of him on her. With her. She closed her eyes. Amused. Enamored.


	6. Chapter 6

Specialization6

John woke. He sat, heart hammering, breath caught in his throat submerging the scream. The nightmarish images faded as he looked down his clothed body. Sprawled on his bed, in his room, in Atlantis. Alone. He breathed deeply. Waited until he could trust his voice. "Moira? Moira?" A weird panic assaulted him.

"Here, John." Her voice came from the bathroom. He relaxed, rubbed his temple where a headache threatened. He made a face. There was a terrible taste in his mouth. He watched as Moira came out of the bathroom. Limp to the bed. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I guess." She shrugged. "You?"

"I've been better." As she sat on the bed he sprang out of it. "Man, I 've got to pee!" He rushed to the bathroom.

Moira laughed softly. She scooted up the bed, laid back. Stared at the darkness. "You okay, John?"

"Hilarious, Moira," he called, flushing the toilet a few seconds later. He washed his hands, rinsed out his mouth. Returned to the bed. He slid next to her, upon her. "Moira." He shifted, shifted against her. "My head feels like a brick," he complained.

"You did drink a lot, John," she explained, caressing his arm.

"Shit. I still can't get it up!"

"You will. Go back to sleep."

He kissed her. "Moira, you could get it up for me. You could go down on me and–"

"John!" She covered his mouth with her hand. "Stop obsessing over your cock already! No doubt tomorrow you'll be raring to go, all right? It's fine. Shut up and get some sleep!"

He kissed her hand, moved it from his mouth. Laughed. "Moira, baby, I knew your mouth would do it one way or another. Feel that? Feel...shit!" He rolled off her. Frustrated. Worried.

Moira sighed, rolled to nestle against him. "Don't you worry, sweetie. You're getting stressed over nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing? Damn it, Moira, it's not nothing!" He sighed, groaned. "I feel like shit."

"Then stop shouting, John. Go to sleep, honey. Trust me. By tomorrow you'll be fine." She kissed his brow, had to add, "If not I'm sure Carson has some stimulant or even Viagra to ow!" she complained as he swatted her rear.

"Shut up, Moira!"

"Sorry, John. Too soon?"

"Yes," he grumpily noted.

She kissed him. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. I want you to stay. What?"

She sat free of him, frowned. "My foot hurts. I'd go get my pills but your room is so damn far from mine! I wish our rooms were closer, John. I know you don't care but it is awkward for me, leaving your room afterwards and having to travel down two hallways." She heard a snore, looked at him. "John? John!" She shoved him. He didn't budge. "Damn it!" She snuggled against him again, grumbling to herself.

* * *

Moira woke. She found herself sprawled on the bed. Alone. She sat. "John? John!" She got off the bed, yawned. Heard the shower running. She pulled on her slippers, ran her fingers through her hair. Waited. She tried to smooth down her rumpled clothes. The water stopped. She waited. Watched the closed door. She stood. Slowly limped towards it. "Um, John? Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah, fine, just fine!" he snapped. The door opened. A wave of steam and heat hit her. John stepped past her, a towel wrapped around his waist. Hair wet. Water sparkling on his body. A pissed expression on his face. He moved to grab some clothes. "I need to go...work over some stuff," he vaguely informed.

"What?" She was staring in passionate fascination as beads of water sparkled in his hair. Trickled down his bare back. Down the strong muscles flexing as he moved. The towel at his waist slipped at a precarious angle. Water dripped down his long legs to his bare feet.

"I need to go work some stuff out," he repeated.

She moved to him, puzzled. Hearing the furious tension. She touched his back. "John?"

He turned to her. "Don't."

"What?" Her gaze wandered wildly. The towel slipping lower, revealing a glimpse of his pelvis. Water dribbling along his chest hair. Along his arms, shoulders. The scruffy jaw unshaven. His dour expression. The anger simmering in his brilliant green eyes.

"I'm still...having...a problem," he curtly told her. "I need to go kill something. It's a guy thing, to work out this anger and stuff over...I don't want to inadvertently hurt you, Moira. So please, go. I'll come find you later, when I'm done. Where?"

She stared, startled, worried. So enamored it took a moment to form words. "In, in my room. I need to rest my foot." She touched his arm. Stepped closer. Lightly kissed his lips. "Everything will be fine, John. You'll be fine."

He touched her rosy cheek. "Soon. Go." His voice was gentle now.

She nodded. Limped out of the room.

* * *

Moira sighed, checked the clock again. It was nearly two in the afternoon. She hadn't seen John for hours. She turned back to the data pad, viewed the screen. Made some notes.

A loud knocking hit the door. Startling her. "Moira!" came John's stern voice. "Moira!" Before she could move he opened the door, entered. Closed it. "What the hell is that? More scientific experimentation?" He strode to the table. Spun the data screen to face him. "Oh."

Moira was staring at him. He was pissed. Hot. Sexy. Hair disheveled. Jaw scruffy. The open-necked black shirt half-tucked into his black pants. Boots. Gun slung low on his hip. "Dire wolves," she explained, when she could find her voice. Form words. "The footage from P1R359 that you filmed for me." She turned the data screen back towards her. Touched his hand still clutching the machine. "John?" She ran a finger over his rough, scrapped knuckles. "Did you, did you hit Carson?"

He smiled briefly. "Not yet. No. I hit one of the blinds in the firing range. It, um, made me mad. So I battered the hell out of it after shooting every fucking target with every gun I could find." He moved to the chair opposite her. Before she could remove her foot from it he lifted it, sat, replaced her foot onto his lap. "Still sore?" he asked, eying the fuzzy sock.

"John, are you okay now? I mean, I mean...did you work out all of your, um, anger issues?"

John slowly met her gaze, eyes taking in her loose hair as it billowed along her lavender buttoned shirt. Her dark gray pants. He had seen her admiring, desirous gaze. Her passion. Saw her hardening nipples poking the shirt. Inviting. "Yeah, I did. I guess." His fingers drummed on the table. Impatient. "You should see those women, Moira."

"What women, John?" she asked, trying to calm her suddenly rapid heart. Her body reacting to him although he hadn't done a thing, said a word, given no indication that he even thinking of sex, much less wanting it.

"All the women here that I passed on my way to you. To you. All staring at me. Staring with that look. You know. The same look you just gave me. The fuck me look. They all were giving me the come fuck me look. Like you just did."

"I see." She resumed her attention on the screen. Annoyed. "So, did handling all those guns and ammo help your other um, situation? Did you get it up in the armory?"

"You'd think so, but no. Ah." He moved her foot a little as she shifted on the chair. He groaned. "Don't you worry. Good groan."

"Oh."

He closed the data screen, pushed it out of her reach. "I want to have sex, Moira. I need to have sex." He gave her a slow, slow smile, titling his head slightly. "I need you to check my ordnance, baby. My performance might not be optional but it should suffice. So take off your fucking clothes and let's get it on," he said mildly.

She met his gaze, frowned. "Geez, John, when you sweet talk me like that I can't resist. What charm. I like you better when you're drunk. You were much nicer and much more romantic."

"I'll bet. I don't remember much. Did I say a lot of stupid things?"

"Yes," she smiled moving her foot slightly in his lap, "all sorts of wonderful, romantic, sloppy things. I'd rather make love with that guy."

He smiled. "Good. Because this guy," he pointed at himself, "doesn't want to make love. He wants sex. You know," he leaned towards her, arms crossed on the table, "I could out there and get any of those women to do me. Just like that." He snapped his fingers. Gaze challenging. "Not that I would, of course. I'm just saying."

"Oh. How thoughtful of you to tell me that." She moved her foot but he caught her ankle gently. "Go and check your own fucking ordnance, John. You don't have to tell me how gorgeous and how desirable you are. Even a genetically altered monster wanted to do you."

His smile disappeared into a scowl. "Hilarious, Moira. But I knew your mouth would get me off one way or another."

She pulled her foot free of his grasp, set it on the floor. Scooted back to stand but he moved to his feet, stepped to block her. "How nice for you, sweetie."

"See?" He smiled again, standing close. Closer. Raised his brows, looking down. "Only you can get me going just by that mouth of yours, baby. Want to feel how hard I am now?"

She rolled her eyes, scooted back from his crotch. "Congratulations, colonel. What do you want, a gold star?"

"No. Ah, no." He pulled her to her feet, into his arms. Kissed her. A hard, passionate kiss. Demanding. "I only want you, Moira. I only want you to give me the come fuck me look. I want to show you, Moira."

She returned his kiss. Hands sliding up his chest. "Show me? What, John? That you are now at half-salute?" she teased, stepping back to run her hand along him. He moaned in appreciation. "Good for you, colonel."

He smiled. "Yeah, and good for you too, baby. Very. I also want to show you how much I love you."

She stared. "Oh." She softened.

He smirked. "And to achieve a full hard-on."

She sighed, hit his chest. Limped away from him. "Sometimes I hate you, John."

He removed his holster, gun, set them on the table. "Why? Come on, Moira, half the fun is getting a rise out of you."

"Really? I thought you were the one needing a rise."

He laughed. Moved to pull her into his arms. Turning her to face him. He kissed her. A slow, seductive kiss full of promise. Of love. His hands slid down to gently grasp, squeeze her rear. She murmured in reaction. His mouth moved across her skin. "I want you, baby," he breathed into her ear. "I need to check my ordnance and test fly this equipment. Won't you be my co-pilot? I'll even let you take the stick." He nibbled her earlobe until she whimpered softly, melting into him. Hands running over him. His mouth moved down her throat. "I love you, Moira. I need you. You are everything to me. Everything. When we go to Earth we will have the best–"

"What?" She pulled back. "You remembered? John! You–"

He grinned. "Of course, baby. And how my room is too far from yours. Can we have sex now? Please?" He pouted.

She laughed. "Depends. Can you get it up?"

"Depends. Are you wet?" He slid his hand between her legs, caressing. "Almost."

She kissed him, pulling him to the bed. Her hands slid under his shirt. Out. Unbuttoned it slowly, kissing his neck. Then down his chest, following the buttons popping open. He sighed happily, caressing her crotch relentlessly. She opened the shirt, ran her mouth down to his waist. He groaned, catching her hair in his hands. Tangling.

Moira undid his pants. Unzipped. Pulled them down. Touched the black silk boxers. Met his gaze. "Wow, John. I think you have what you wanted."

He smiled. "Not yet, baby. Not quite yet." He pulled her into a lengthy kiss. Unbuttoned her shirt, pulled it off her and kissed her. He slipped down the straps of her bra. "Lavender lace," he muttered happily. Unhooking the garment and taking it off her. He pulled her against him to repeatedly kiss her. Shove her body to his.

Moira lost herself, murmuring, moaning as his mouth possessed hers. Her body tightened. Hot with desire. He suddenly swung her off her feet. Onto the bed. Moved over her. Ran his mouth down her throat to her arching breasts. Kissing, teasing, tongue sliding over her skin. Moira gasped, muffling her whimpers and cries. He kissed down to her scar. Fingers flying to her pants. He sat, tugging them off her. Careful of her injured foot. He leaned to pull off his shorts, yank off his boots.

He moved over her. Resumed his exploration of her body. Groaned. "Ah, baby...it's gonna be full fucking throttle. We should be in the sex room."

"Love nest, sweetie," she corrected, gasped as he kissed her again. She pushed him onto his back, slid over him. Onto him. Slid down his body. "Let's have that ordnance check, colonel, before we test drive this equipment."

John groaned, shifting as she ran her mouth down his waist. Over the silky boxers. Along his bare thigh. Teasingly around the bandage. "Fuck! Oh fuck!" he exclaimed, nearly coming at the erotic sensations. Her mouth. Her tongue. Her hair tickling as she moved. She ran her mouth along the erect length of him, still sheathed in the silk. The material was cool. Melting under her mouth. John jerked, helpless, coming as she circled, circled. Then closed her mouth gently over him. Sucked until he tensed, moaned, jerked almost violently.

"Jo-hn," she whispered in a sing-song voice, freeing him, "shall we check your performance now? Or do you want to fly solo on this one?"

He smiled, pulled her up his body, down to him. Kissed her hard. Tongue gliding into her mouth. Smoothly he rolled her onto her back. "I want to be inside you, Moira. I'm so hard now you better hold on tight, baby. Fuck!" He yanked her panties off, fingers questing, searching. Her legs opening wide. Wider as she squirmed, gasped. Grabbed as he entered. He grunted in sheer, sweet relief, thrusting. Steady and fast.

"Oh John! Oh John, John, John," she cried, writhing beneath him, trying to keep her voice low but the pleasure was rushing, rushing. Escalating as he slowed, slowed to a delicious hesitation. Prolonging the moment. Flying on the brink until she lost her breath, arching. Legs wrapping around him to guide him deeper. Quicker. Her murmurs and soft cries escalating as his groans increased. Then he thrust deeper. Harder. Rushing in a sexual frenzy. Rocking the bed. Rocking her with such precision she cried out loudly.

"John! Oh John, John, John!" she stammered, the breathless rush to climax exhilarating.

"Fuck! Moira, oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" he exulted as he came fast, hard. Body finding no respite until the shuddering spasms took him, released him. But he kept thrusting, slower now as pure physical pleasure inundated him. He slowed. Slowed. Collapsed upon her as she unwrapped her legs, freeing him. "Moira...oh baby...fuck...that was..you are..."

"Let me guess, sweetie. A fantastic fuck?" she asked softly, catching her breath. Stroking his back.

He met her gaze, smiled. "Oh...well, yeah. Sorry. So...did my equipment perform to your satisfaction? Because it sure performed to mine."

"Hmm...not bad, I guess," she teased.

"Not bad? Not bad? You came so hard you practically oh...hilarious, Moira!" he scolded. Kissed her. Rolled so she was on top of him. He caressed her back. "Give me five, baby, and I can get it up again. Promise."

She smiled. "Sure you can, colonel. See? You were stressed for nothing, John. Hey!" she protested as he grabbed her rear. Squeezed.

"Pert little ass," he fondly noted. "Um...a little help would be greatly appreciated, baby."

"Oh? Would it, sweetie? A little help?" She kissed him. Ran her mouth along his jaw. Squirmed her body on his. Ran her mouth around his ear, down his throat. Down his shoulder. Lifted her rear to wriggle. "Hmm...John, not much help, colonel," she chided. Kissed his hand. Took his finger into her mouth to suck, suck until he groaned. She freed him. Smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Specialization7

John grinned. Rolled them so Moira was under him again. "That will do it, baby. Ah yes, yes, Moira...so fucking sweet..." He slid into her. Kissed her. "Hmm...now I'll make love to you, Moira, and much better than that drunken guy ever could."

She laughed. "I don't know, sweetie. He was way more romantic than you...ah..." she sighed, as the pleasure slowly built.

He kissed her. Long, gentle kisses as he moved slowly, almost lazily. "Whatever, baby. Now we're testing duration since we've tested stamina."

"Oh John..." she purred, moving under him. With him. Kissing him, hands running along his sides as he nuzzled her throat. She moaned in sheer bliss, each sensation pleasurable, loving. She was nearing the brink at a delicious pace, an inevitable approach. Soft, inarticulate sounds issuing from her lips and making him only more aroused. More inspired to wait, to wait. To delay the climax. Delay the rush.

"Colonel Sheppard, please respond," came a voice over the intercom.

Moira gasped, fingers tightening on his arm. Her movements suspended. But John kept going, kissing her. "John–"

"Ignore it, baby, we're almost there," he soothed, neither slowing nor speeding. Enjoying the sexual fission, the intimacy. The orgasms so close he could feel them already. Bathing in her love, her pleasure. Giving her as much as he could, showering her with love and intimacy. Relieved that his body was in full working order. That nothing prevented him from enjoying sex with her.

"Oh John, John," she gushed, melting. Marveling over his direction, his skill. She moved in slow tandem with him. Her fingers tightened on his arms as he kissed her lazily. Mouth savoring hers, tasting. Teasing. He lifted his face to stare into her eyes. Moving a little faster. Just a little to make her gasp, squirm. Enjoying the feel of her around him, the feel of her tightening over him.

"Moira. My Moira," he said warmly. Voice husky.

"Colonel Sheppard, please respond," the voice interrupted again.

"John," Moira warned, but couldn't stop. Her voice caught between desire and guilt.

"No. Not until we come, Moira. This is too exquisite to end abruptly," he argued. He kissed her lengthily. Broke the kiss to thrust harder, faster.

Moira cried out, arching as the orgasm spilled, flooded. Making her fall into a rushing tide. "John!" she gasped, whimpering and whispering his name over and over.

He moaned, coming with her. "Moira, my Moira. Fuck, oh fuck," he grunted. Straining in a breathless cascade as orgasm flooded. He settled upon her, slid out of her. "Moira, oh God...my Moira...that was..." He smiled, thoroughly sated. Satisfied. Happy. Entwined with her, bodies warm, sweaty.

Moira caught her breath, kissed him repeatedly as he moved half off her. He caressed a breast. "John...oh John...you...you..."

"Colonel Sheppard! Respond!"

"Shit." He kissed her again. "Hold that thought, Moira." He sat, leaned to grab his earpiece. Tapped it. "This is Sheppard," he snarled. "What?"

"Um, colonel, colonel, there's a meeting in the conference room and–"

"I'm busy. Sheppard out!" He set the earpiece aside. Calmed. Moved back to Moira. "So...what were you going to say, sweetheart?"

"John? You, you should go–"

"No." He kissed her, held her close as they lay facing each other. "This is our time, Moira. Nothing is more important than this."

She smiled. "You mean nothing is more important than testing your ordnance."

He smiled. "Yes. Nothing's more important than making love to you, my Moira." He kissed her. "Was that a sufficient test of duration, doctor?"

"Yes, oh yes, colonel! How did you ever manage to keep it up that long? And to keep it going?"

He smirked. "I am the sex guy." Grew serious. "I told you, honey. I'm going to give you everything. Everything." He stroked her cheek. "Moira...the way I feel about you...I've never had this exact–"

A knocking on the door interrupted. Moira sighed, scrambled free. She grabbed the blankets to cover herself.

"Fuck!" John sat, grabbed his shorts and pants. Pulled them on with savage motions.

"John? No! You can't! It's my room and–"

"Don't care." He pulled on his shirt, glanced at her. "Don't move. I'm sick of this, Moira."

"No! John!" She scrambled to pull on her shirt but fell back into the blankets as he strode to the door. Opened it.

"What? What is so fucking important that I oh..." John's furious voice faded into embarrassment. He hesitated. Very aware of his disheveled appearance. Very aware of Moira naked on the bed behind him. Of their sexual intercourse all too evident.

Katie Brown stared, eyes going huge as John's hair was wildy disordered. His shirt open to reveal his chest. His pants hastily pulled on and not zippered. "I...I..."

John swore to himself. "Sorry, Doctor Brown. I thought you were...that is to say I thought you were um, I, you see, Moira and I are kind of busy right now," he lamely explained.

"Oh! Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt any, any, anything like..." she spluttered.

"You didn't. If you could come back in maybe ten, no twenty," he paused as something hard hit his back, "we should be finished here and you can talk to Moira."

"Oh! Oh, okay...colonel. Colonel Sheppard. Sorry." Blushing furiously Katie left.

John closed the door, trying not to laugh at the botanist's shocked expression. "Ow!" he complained, turned to find one of his boots at his feet. "Moira!" he scolded, scowled. She was quickly dressing, unbuttoned shirt over her bra. Grabbing her panties from the floor. In two strides he was at her side, yanking the panties from her. "What did I say, Moira? No panties!"

She grabbed them but he held onto them tightly. "Damn it, John! What the hell are you doing? Answering my door like that! Like that!" She hit his chest for emphasis.

"Well, you could hardly answer at the time, now could you?" he retorted. Let her take the panties. "And I–"

"What?" She turned away, suddenly embarrassed under his scrutiny. She pulled on the lavender material.

"That pert little ass needs a spanking, and to stay unclothed."

"Shut up, John!" She pulled on her pants, buttoned her shirt. "Well? Go! Go to your fucking meeting already!"

He laughed. "I already have my fucking meeting, sweetheart. Twice. Oh! You mean the meeting in the conference room?" He ducked as she swung at him, irritated.

"It's not funny, John!" she flared, pushing him away from her. "God you are so crude sometimes! Fucking soldier! Go!"

"It is funny." He pulled her into his arms, kissed her. "Baby, why are you so angry? At least we were not interrupted in actual coitus this time, well, almost, but–"

"Button your damn shirt!" She shoved free but stumbled. Fell onto the bed. "It's not funny! Will you just go?"

He frowned. But merriment sparkled in his eyes. "No. You button it for me, baby. Or I'll stand here all day. Waiting."

She glared. But stood. Stepped to him. Buttoned his shirt with brisk, efficient fingers. Eyes on his chest as she covered him.

He smirked. "You don't have to be jealous, baby. Just because your friend saw me like this. She'll be jealous, of course, and envious, but only you get to see all of me. Touch all of me. Kiss all of me. Hmm? Is that it? Don't be angry with me, baby."

"Just shut up and go, would you?" she snapped. Reached to catch his zipper, yank it up.

"Shit!" He stumbled, caught her hand there. "Damn, Moira, you could have damaged the merchandise and I just got it back in working order!"

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sincere. She sat on the bed, sighed. "Go! Do your job, colonel!"

"I already did. Twice." He sat next to her. "Sweetheart, what is wrong? It can't just be the fact that your botanist friend got a very, very nice look at me, is it?"

"No! Of course not! Will you–"

"Go? No." He laid back suddenly. "Moira, talk to me. You–"

"If you must know, John, I am sick of the interruptions too, all right? And you...you were going to tell me...you were going to tell me..." She stared at her foot. "Just go, will you!"

"We haven't tested pinpoint accuracy yet. Or positioning. From behind. I want a thorough systems check encompassing all parameters. Especially positioning. Got it, baby?"

"Fine, fine, just go! You know it turns me on when you talk all military."

"Damn right it does." He sat, pulled on his boots. "Ah. I know now. You want me to finish what I was saying, is that it?"

"Yes," she said softly. Oddly uncomfortable. She glanced at him.

He stood. Tucked his shirt into his pants. Ran a hand through his hair. Snatched his holster and strapped it onto his thigh. Slid the gun into place. "Look, I just can't um, say that stuff out of the blue, you know? I have to be in the heat of the moment, or just in–"

"Then go, John. Go to your meeting," she said, voice mild now.

He met her gaze. Leaned close to kiss her. "You know how I feel, Moira, so why the hell do I have to keep saying it? Rest your foot. I'll be back ASAP, okay? Okay, Moira?"

"Okay, John. Go."

He hesitated, then left. Moira sighed, stared after him.


	8. Chapter 8

Specialization8

John sprinted to the conference room, shoving his puzzlement over Moira aside. He slowed to stroll into the room. Took his seat as Jason paused, then resumed talking as John nodded. He met Elizabeth's irritated gaze, said nothing. Fiddled with the data screen in front of him and glanced at Carson who was dutifully listening. Scrutinizing the marine as if he were a specimen on a slide. Something to be examined. Studied. Dissected.

"When we came to," Jason continued, "as I said yesterday, the thing was gone. So was Jacobs. It took some time for everyone to wake up from whatever that thing had done to us. Last I saw it was...it was the size of a small child. We were just heading out to search for Jacobs when Colonel Sheppard contacted me. That's all I can remember, I'm afraid."

"Is there some problem?" John asked, tensing. Sitting straight in the chair. "We went over all of this yesterday. Why are we going through it today?"

"Some clarification, John. Where have you been? I've been paging you on the comm, on the PA system...where have you been?" Elizabeth asked.

John shrugged. "Sorry. What sort of clarifications?"

"About the creature," Elizabeth informed.

"It was a unique life form, a true–" Carson began.

"Am amalgamation of several different species," John interrupted the doctor tersely, using Moira's words. "It doesn't really matter now because it's dead," he said flatly. John pointed. "It should have been dead days ago when it was a grub! Next time I decide to kill something I am going to kill it and no one, I mean no one is going to stop me."

"I'm sorry, John. I'll take the blame, as will Moira. We both were–"

"Not Moira," John spit out the words.

"Intrigued and dare I say it, enraptured by the thing," Carson continued as if John hadn't spoken, "but no one could have predicted the rapid cellular development. Or the undue influence it had on our minds. Tell me, colonel, what exactly was it doing in that cave? Would you like to elucidate that?"

John frowned. "I told you. It fed. It attacked. I killed it. End of story." His voice was low, sharp. He stood. "As of now I will be instituting new security protocols in the event of a reoccurrence. Just in case you've forgotten I was the one, and my men who risked our lives to get that thing out of the city before it could become a danger. Next time I will not allow the situation to go that far."

"John, I agree the situation could have become a potentially lethal–"

"Potentially?" he asked, meeting Elizabeth's gaze. "One of my men is dead, Elizabeth! Any and all research into these things will now be directed under my purview as military commander of Atlantis! As of now any Wraith research goes through me. Got it? Any foreign biologicals will be immediately transported to the Alpha site."

"Now colonel," Carson chastised, "that is going a bit too far."

"I don't think so. Reynolds, dismissed."

"John," Elizabeth resumed after the marine departed, "I understand your concerns, I do. We have to judge this on a case by case situation. I know it was horrendous but you–"

"You have no idea, Elizabeth." His gaze swung to Carson. "Did you actually see this thing you nurtured?"

"I got a glimpse before it–"

"Then you have no idea either! Horrendous doesn't begin to cover it. It was a true amalgamation of Wraith and human, bug and mammal. A pure mishmash of body parts and features. And all ferocity. All lethal. You didn't see what it did to Jacobs. I did. Moira saw the aftermath, and that creature." His voice was calm but he felt a slight shiver course along his body. The memories rising but he forced them down.

"And what did it do to Jacobs? In the cave. To you and to Moira?" Carson asked.

John tensed, hands tightening on the back of the chair. "Brutal doesn't cover it either. Now, if you'll excuse me I'll go draw up the new security regulations. To be effective immediately."

"John! You need to tell us what–"

"No!" He pointed. "I don't need to tell you a damn thing, Beckett!" he snarled. Gaze like ice as he glared. "It's dead! It's over!" He strode out of the room. Hand sliding down to feel the weight of the gun at his thigh.

* * *

Moira sat at the table in her room. She was reviewing the footage of the dire wolves again, foot propped up on the opposite chair. Her mind drifted from the digital images to John. The incredibly loving sex despite the interruptions. His interrupted declarations. She sighed, bit her lower lip in consternation. Uncertain. Afraid she had let things go too far, go way out of control. A quiet knock on the door broke her worry. "Come–" she started, but the door was opening.

"In?" John asked, entering. He closed the door. He walked over to her, data pad in one hand, a pair of beer bottles in the other. He set the data pad down, the beers. Caught her foot before she could move it. Sat and placed it in his lap.

"That bad?" she asked, as he opened a beer. Took a long sip. Offered it to her. She shook her head.

"Bad enough," he admitted.

She moved her foot in his lap, making him smile. "What happened?"

He sighed. "We had to talk about that thing. Again! I lost my temper. Nothing specific...just...Carson knows or suspects what happened in that cave." He opened the data pad, typed on the keyboard.

"He has an inkling. Nothing exact. But I'm sure he knows what the thing was, um, doing. Intending to do." She watched him, moved her foot off but he pulled it gently back. Met her concerned gaze.

"Oh. It's like, it's like he wants me to tell him. Exactly what happened. I won't, Moira."

"All right, John. Nor will I. Don't you worry."

"I'm not worried. I'm pissed," he admitted. Drank. "I need to work on these new protocols. So this shit doesn't happen again."

"Okay."

He smiled. "See? You have no problem with me doing this, do you? But they were challenging me even on this!"

"They shouldn't. You and your men had to risk your lives to get it to the Alpha site."

"Yeah, that's what I said," he agreed.

"And it was all because of Carson and me," she mourned.

"No, honey, not you," he soothed. Stroked her leg.

"Yes, John, me. We got so locked up in the science and discovery we couldn't see the big picture. You did. So you need to put those protocols in place."

He smiled. "I'd kiss you now if your foot wasn't making me so happy."

She smiled. "Hilarious, John. Get to work, colonel."

"On this? Or on testing various positioning?" he teased.

She smirked. "Behave, colonel. Relax. Drink your beer."

He did so. Relaxing in her company, her care. Her love. He began to work on the data pad. Moira closed hers, chin in hand, watching him. His disordered hair falling along his forehead. His serious expression. The stubble shadowing his jaw. Eyelashes shadowing his eyes as they were focused on the screen. Full, luscious lips pursed as he thought. Typed. Broad shoulders still tensed. She moved her foot off his lap, stood. Limped to stand behind him. Ran her hands on his shoulders, neck. Began to massage. Ran her mouth along his throat. "Relax, John. Is this better, colonel?"

"Hmm...much. Although I miss your foot in my lap," he complained. Her fingers working the bunched muscles. The stress melting away under her care. Concern. Love.

"Hmm...would you prefer my pert little ass?" she teased into his ear, gently nibbled.

"God, yes!" He scooted back. She laughed at his eagerness. Seated herself. "No. Face the screen," he suggested with a sly smile.

She frowned, but did so. Straddling his thighs, wiggling her rear on his lap as she faced the screen. She scooted. Gyrated to get comfortable. He sighed happily. "Better, colonel?" she teased as his arms went round her to the keyboard.

John leaned close, kissed her throat. "Much. Hey, you type for me." He slid his hands down along her thighs.

"What? Am I your secretary now, colonel?"

"Yes. Bounce that pert little ass and type, baby."

She laughed, gyrated until he moaned. "Yes, colonel." She touched the keyboard. "Well?"

"Huh? Oh...just a sec." He leaned closer to read over her shoulder. Slid his hands up under her shirt, up under her bra to cup her breasts.

"John..." she whispered, reacting as he fondled. He kissed down her throat, then up to her ear.

"Furthermore all unclassified biological entities are to be considered under threat assessment protocols as outlined in...why aren't you typing, baby?"

"Oh...sorry, sweetie." She shifted on him. "Could you repeat that?"

He smiled. "Repeat what? This?" He kissed up to her ear. "Or this?" He fondled her breasts. Ran his tongue along her earlobe, behind it to make her whimper in her throat. Shift wildly on his lap. He ran his thumbs over the sensitive skin. Nipples puckering under his touch.

Moira moaned softly, becoming aroused as he did. "John...oh John...I can't type when you are doing these wonderful things to me," she gushed.

"With you," he corrected, voice low in her ear. "It's just as well because I can't remember what the hell I just said. Harder." He kissed down her throat as she rocked, rocked on him. Leaning slightly forward to feel him more intimately. His growing hardness pressing, pressing. She arched slightly as his hands kept fondling her breasts. Stroking. Teasing. Rough, calloused fingers dancing along her.

"John, oh John..." she whispered, moving across, back and forth. Feeling him lengthen, push against his pants in order to reach her.

"Ah, baby...God that feels so good," he wooed, hands sliding free to caress her hips. He slid one hand into her pants. To slide across her panties. To pry between her legs, feeling her eager readiness for him. "Damn, baby...I want you just like this," he encouraged, leaning back suddenly.

Moira gasped as his hardness poked, pushed at her. His fingers plying her underwear. Her hips shifting on him. "John, we, we can't. We can't..." she stammered, but his other hand was unbuttoning, unzipping her pants. Tugging them open. Down her hips.

"We have to, baby. I can't hold this forever," he noted gruffly. "Stand."

She did so. But stepped away awkwardly before he could pull down her pants. She leaned on the table. "John, we can't. If we're interrupted again–"

"We won't be. Moira, please," he said. Moved to her. Pulled her against him. Hands sliding up to her breasts again. She turned halfway to catch his mouth with hers. Again. Again. John glided his tongue to tease, to arouse. His hands sliding down to her hips. He yanked down her pants, panties. "Step." She stepped out of one leg awkwardly. He shoved the data pads out of the way. Pushed her gently onto the table. He pushed up her shirt. Ran kisses down her bare back. Slow, sloppy motions of his mouth.

Moira squirmed, off-balance. Half on the table, leaning over and up as his mouth moved down her back. Down her spine. She heard him unzipping his pants, and the sound alone made her tighten, made her flood in anticipation. His hands were on her hips, positioning her. His mouth gliding to her rear and she gasped, breathless. Moving. Lifting as he pushed her legs apart. He grasped, squeezed her rear. She whimpered as he entered her.

"You know the safe word, Moira, oh Moira oh Moira," he intoned quietly, beginning to thrust, thrust into her. Into that wet tightness he desired. He groaned, shifting again for a better angle. A better position to achieve maximum climax.

Moira gasped, moaned. Inarticulate sounds of pleasure burst from her lips. Shock making her gasp, blush. She held onto the table, pulling away but John pulled her back gently. Each thrust longer, deeper. Inducing the vibrations, the sexual pleasure. "John! Oh John, John, John," she breathed with each thrust. The table shook, shook.

John was groaning in his throat, coming in a strained rush. Mounting pleasure promising release. With each thrust, each penetration he came closer, closer. He leaned, kissing her back. Hand sliding to pull her out more, to slide along her thigh. To rub and rub the very front of her. He changed tempo, rhythm, moving faster. "Moira, my Moira...tighter, baby, tigher! Oh that's it! Fuck! Fuck!" he praised.

Moira tensed, scrambling as he seemed bigger, longer, harder. Thrusting to fill all of her. The sexual friction grew, grew between his thrusts and his fingers. It was an almost excruciating tension building. She gasped, murmured. Lost her breath. "John! Oh John, John! Please, please, please, oh John!" she stammered as his thrusts became faster, faster. Fingers probing hard. She felt herself melting, flooding. Rushing over the edge as a quivering sob escaped her lips as one orgasm, then another took her. She cried out, but he kept moving. As if he would never let her go. Never stop the sharp pleasure engulfing them.

John groaned loudly, straining. Arching into her as her every sound make him even harder, even more tense. His body demanding more of her. All of her. He couldn't get enough of the friction, the snug heat enveloping him. The table shook, shook. Finally he came. A spurting, throbbing rush incessantly pounding. "Moira! Oh Moira! Fuck, fuck, fuck! You are killing me, baby, fucking killing me!"

"Me?" she managed to squeak as he kept riding her. Riding her, shoving her up, up the table with his frenzied momentum. Until he hauled her back. "John! John, please!"she gasped, wincing as her foot protested the position, the pushing.

"Moira! Oh Moira, oh fuck!" he exclaimed in a husky voice. A final spasm sending him over the edge. He leaned on her a moment, exhausted. Drained. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Oh shit! Your foot! Is it all right? I should have thought to..." Her soft laugh made him pause. Smile. "What? What's so funny?"

She relaxed as he freed her. Collapsed back onto the chair. She straightened, eyes wide at her position. The way he had taken her. She moved to sit on his lap, straddling to face him. Kissed him, unbuttoning his shirt. Running her hands greedily along his chest. Fingers tugging at his chest hair. He ran his hands along her back, caressing. "You. Damn, John...so solicitous after that? After you gave me a double at that angle? And your cock still inside me?"

He smiled, kissed her. "Yes, Moira. I can't resist that pert little ass, you know that. I have to have it. All of it. Seriously, though, how is your foot?"

"Who cares?" She kissed him. Ran her mouth down his throat, nibbling. Fingers caressing his chest. She opened the shirt to kiss his shoulder. "Oh John! John..."she enthused dreamily.

He kissed her. Hands sliding to her hips. "Hmm, baby...I take it our positioning was good?"

"Very good, sweetie. As was your military thrust."

He grinned. "Very. Hold on."

"What? John!" she cried in surprise as he grabbed her. Stood. Carried her to the bed. "John?" He set her onto it. Pushed her onto her back and moved over her quickly. Trapping her.

"I need to rest after that, and you need to be off your foot. Ah, Moira...this day has been perfect."

"John, I know you want to test your ordnance and all but we keep having–"

"Sex, yes, that's how we test it, baby. With lots and lots...and lots of sex. Hot sex too."

"Ow."

He sat. "What? Is it your foot?"

"Bra. Stabbing me."

"Oh. Remove it." He leaned down to yank off his boots. "What was I saying? Oh yes. Lots. And lots. And lots." He turned to look at her. Frowned. Disappointed as her shirt was still on although she was sitting now. "I thought you were going to remove..." She held up the bra. "Oh. Well, I thought the shirt would be gone."

"Well, you thought wrong, flyboy." She set the bra aside, leaned back and over. "John!" she complained as his hand slid up her skin, under the shirt to clasp a breast.

"Open your shirt, baby. Those beauties shouldn't be concealed from me." He kissed her, moving her onto her back.

"No, John, you can't–"

He kissed her. Slid his hand out but began to unbutton her shirt. Ran his mouth down her throat. Then down as each button was opened. "Moira," he murmured.

She sighed, shifted. Fingers in his hair as he kissed down to her waist, her pants. Slid up to tongue each breast. Then settled comfortably upon her. Fingers lazily caressing one. "Are you kidding me, John?"

He quietly laughed. "Yes. I need a nap, baby. Then we can try another–"

"Shut up, John. God! Are you trying to kill me with orgasms?"

He laughed. "Hey, there are worse ways to go."

"I'm serious! We're having too much sex again! We need to slow it down, not speed it up! Damn it, John, we have to stop this! Look, I know you needed this because you wanted to test your ordnance and equipment, because you were mauled by that thing and you needed to reassert sexual dominance since that was momentarily taken from you, and because you enjoy lots and lots of sex but you don't have to do it all in one–"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute!" He lifted his head, eyed her. "Damn it, Moira, this is why we banned post-coital talking! Stop being the scientist and start being my lover!"

"John, your lover is a scientist whether you like it or not, and just because I can see what determines your behavior you don't have to get all–"

"And your lover is a colonel, is the military commander of Atlantis, baby. And true, I needed to make sure my ordnance and equipment weren't impaired. And yes, I wanted to have sex with you. I needed to take you repeatedly, and yes, I do enjoy lots and lots of sex."

"That's what I said! Geez, John, what's the problem?"

"The problem?" He laughed, shifted against her. "I have no problem. You're the one going on and on about it, baby, not me. We're not having too much sex."

"We are! John, we've had it three times today and it's not even four o'clock!"

He smiled, trying not to laugh. "Most women would be gushing over with gratitude, baby. And hey, we've got plenty of time to double that count."

"Oh shut up!" She hit his arm. "Get off me! I hate you! I hate your smug arrogance and your–"

"Let me guess, my sexual proficiency? How I make you want me all the fucking time? How every thought, every image, every sensation revolved around sex?" She stared, wide-eyed. "Yeah? Welcome to my world, baby."

"You...you?" she stammered. Frowned. "You mean devolves!"

He kissed her, settling again. "We need to take a nap, Moira. No more post-coital talking. Unless that was pre-coital talking?"

"Shut up. You are so–"

"Hush. God you wear me out. Sexually, which I quite enjoy. And then with all this melodrama. This emotional whirlwind you create just because you want me. Get over it. I want you just as much. Just as often. Well, probably more often. So enjoy it, baby, and we'll see where it takes us."

Moira frowned, irritated, but also amused. "You are a fantastic fuck, sweetie."

He smiled. "Damn right I am, baby. Now sleep."


	9. Chapter 9

Specialization9

John moved. Awakening to a gray afternoon. Rain pelted the windows. A wind whistled round the towers. The waves of the ocean crashing, crashing. Moira's warm body beneath him, entangled limbs. Her hair tickling his face, his arm. He lifted his head, smiled. Moira was fast asleep. He scooted up, gently kissed her lips, her throat. Scooted off to sit.

He watched her a moment. The slow rise and fall of her breasts. Her hair spilling wildly all around her. Rosy lips relaxed. She murmured, rolling onto her side. Shoving against him. John smirked, admiring her bare hip, her rear. He looked around the room. At the data pads shoved to one end of the table.

He yawned, replete. Stretched languidly, arms over his head. Mulling over her words, her concerns. His own sheer enjoyment of the intense, escalating sex. The vibrant frequency. The relief that he was physically fine. Better emotionally too after the horror in the caves. He examined his scraped knuckles. Needing to vent his anger over what had happened, what had almost happened. The feelings of helplessness, despair and shame. He considered Moira's assessment.

He grabbed a blanket, pulled it over them as he reclined. He spooned against her. Arm slipping over her waist. Reluctant to leave her. To leave the comfortable bed. The warmth. The afterglow of sex and love. "Moira," he whispered into her ear. Kissed her. "Moira."

She muttered, bending her knees, shoving her rear into him. Touching his arm, his hand. "John?" she murmured. Stirred. Felt him so close, so warm. "What time?"

"Who cares?" he countered, hand running along her hip. "My Moira...we don't need to leave this bed, do we? Oh...how is your foot, sweetheart?"

She smirked. "I'm surprised you remembered I had one, sweetie." He laughed. She caught his hand as his fingers wandered. "Behave, sweetie. Seriously, John, we don't need to double an already impressive count."

"Seriously, Moira, can you say that with your pert little ass shoved so tight against my cock I couldn't move it if I tried?"

She laughed. "Keeps your ordnance in place, doesn't it?"

He laughed. "Yes, that it does. Deliciously in place, baby. It still might go off, though." He kissed her, pushed his hand between her legs. "Let's go for number four, baby."

"John!" She pulled his hand off her, squirming. "No. Don't you listen to a word I say? We need to–"

"Slow it down, yeah, I got that. But not today. Today is John and Moira's sex 'til we drop day. Didn't I tell you? That was remiss of me."

She elbowed him. "Hilarious, John. Will you–"

He kissed her, scooting to roll her onto her back. To slide over her. Kissing her, distracting her as he touched her thigh. Pushed her legs apart. Slid his fingers up to make her squirm, murmur. To half-heartedly push at his chest.

"John, oh John..."

"Oh Moira," he mimicked, kissing her. "Hmm...do I need to go down and perform my own maintenance check on you, baby?"

"No, John, no," she argued, returning his kisses, caresses. Shifting under him. Pulled back. "Are you going to shave?"

"Huh?" He paused. "I thought you liked me rough and ready, baby?"

She smiled. "Yes, sweetie...but now I think I want my colonel clean-shaven."

"Oh." He smiled. "Whatever you want, baby. But now? I will have to leave this bed, and go all the way to my room. And them come all the way back. Unless you go with me."

"On my sore foot? I don't think so, John." She kissed him. "We need to get dressed and have dinner."

"Do we? I'd rather have sex."

"Give it a rest, would you?" She pushed. "Go."

He sighed, sat. "Fine." He pulled on his shorts, pants. Tucked himself back in, zipped and buttoned. Scooted to the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. Leaning.

Moira sat, pulling her shirt closed. The blanket pooling over the rest of her. "Such a fine, fine ass, colonel. Makes me want to reconsider."

"So it should, baby." He moved back to her. Kissed her. "An hour?"

"All right. Cafeteria?"

"Yeah." He buttoned his shirt. "No panties."

"What? Yeah, right."

"No panties. That's the new rule." He kissed her. "One hour. Don't be late."

"Yes, sir. One hour."

He grabbed his data pad. Moved to the door. "Back here? Or mine? Or the sex room?"

"Love nest. No. I'll never make the stairs."

"Oh. Right. Here?"

"Okay."

He smiled at her. "One hour. Don't be late, O'Meara, or I will spank that pert little ass. On second thought I might just spank it anyway."

"Promises, promises, Sheppard."

* * *

There was a chill in the air. Moira had pulled on an olive sweater over a clean white t-shirt. A pair of jeans and comfortable shoes. She limped to the infirmary. To Carson as he was taking inventory of supplies. "Carson? I need a few more pain pills."

Carson turned, glanced down at her foot. Back up to her face. "All right, love. Come with me."

She followed. Touched his arm. "I need to talk to you. Privately."

"Privately?" He handed her a half-filled bottle. "All right, love. This way." He drew her to a quiet corner. "Sit." He pulled out a chair for her. Sat opposite. "What does this concern?"

She hesitated, sat. "Not what. Who. John."

"Go on."

Moira glanced round. The infirmary was mostly deserted. She met the doctor's gaze. "Carson, I need you to stop asking John about the cave. Please. And about the creature. He's been through a lot, and he needs to move past it. I've talked to him about it, and he's fine. But you can't keep prying into what he experienced."

"I see. I need to know what happened. I've got a few ideas, and none of them are pleasant. I know something happened just by his furious reactions. And now this overreaction by implementing new restrictive protocols."

"He needs to do this. So let him do it. You can't blame him after what we did. What that creature became."

"That is precisely what I need to know, Moira. What did the creature become?"

She sighed. "A pure amalgamation of several different species."

"That's what John said. Word for word."

"It was. It was hideous, Carson! A true monstrosity! A mishmash of all those genetic strands. As if the genetic strands were incomplete, or couldn't decide what to make. How to develop. Sub-Wraith in behavior. Iratus bug in features and strength. Human in some features and intelligence. It was terrifying. All nightmare! Arthropod features like antennae and a carapace. Human features like an arm and a, a breast. Wraith features like a sucker and claws."

"I can't begin to imagine–"

"No, you can't! But John doesn't have to imagine it. He saw it, Carson. So did I. You mentioned the pituitary gland. The secretion of a growth hormone that stimulates cell division and protein synthesis."

"Yes...but you said it wasn't suffering from giantism. Just rapid development, rapid evolution. I've been pondering that as well...what could trigger that acceleration? In a matter of days. And the incompleteness of several DNA codes. Medea."

"Huh? Medea? The Greek mythological figure who killed her children when Jason left her for another woman?"

Carson smiled. "Yes. But in this context I am referring to the maternal-effect dominant embryonic arrest."

"Huh?"

Carson's smile grew. "Sorry. The Medea gene. A selfish gene composed of a toxin and an antidote. A mother carrying the Medea will pass on the toxin in her offspring, killing them. If the offspring also carry Medea they produce copies of the antidote, thus saving their lives. But if they don't carry the gene they will die. It's a selfish gene in that it has a selective advantage over normal genes. It's been proposed as a way of genetically modifying insect populations. Or a specific gene carrying a disease. Now, in this case I think the sub-Wraith who infected you with its larvae had the Medea. Thus complicating its offspring when it fed on your DNA."

Moira stared, thinking. "So...it's own genetic structure led to its composition of several species, but incomplete? The genes were fighting each other?"

Carson nodded. "I believe so. There's no other way for such a mishmash to exist. You know that the Wraith shouldn't even exist as a species, right? Being composed of human and bug, but yet they do. But there's something I'm missing. Some other trigger I can't quite yet identify. You said it had a breast? So it was female? I wondered. And it wanted to incubate its eggs in you. The reproductive organs of both species...but the eggs would need to be fertilized first."

Moira swallowed. Dreaded this, but knew he would have figured it out eventually. She tread carefully between the truth and protecting John. "Yes. That's what it was doing to Jacobs. That's what John saw. It could project illusions like a Wraith, powerful enough to lull Jacobs into compliance. He didn't hear John's warnings. It was too late by the time John got to him. He was flung across the cave and unable to save Jacobs in time. He blames himself."

"I see. So this thing tried to use Jacobs to fertilize...oh my God..." The full implications hit Carson, and his blue eyes widened.

Moira nodded. "Yes. From what John has told me, yes. Exactly what you are thinking. And then it fed on Jacobs. And then it came after me for implantation. John saved me," she lied, voice soft, calm. Determined to protect John, to never betray his confidences, his trust. "It was pulling me down a tunnel when John shot it. Finally killed it." She eyed the floor.

Carson touched her arm. "I didn't realize. I.... Moira, are you sure you are unhurt? You weren't scratched or cut or–"

"No. John saved me."

"I don't understand why he just couldn't tell me."

She met his gaze. "Because it was horrible! The things he had to witness! Blaming himself for the death of Jacobs although there is nothing he could have done! Risking his life to save me, almost losing me in that cave of horrors! So please, please, Carson, don't ask him about it any more. Let it be. I've told you all you need to know."

"Have you?" he asked. Finding her calm demeanor suspicious.

"Yes. We need to end this. Now. End any further research. The thing is dead. It was an abomination. Please, Carson," she continued, touching his knee, "don't ask John about it again. I can answer his questions and help allay his guilt, but only if you stop pestering him."

Carson considered. Could see her sincerity, her stubbornness. "Very well, Moira. At least he is talking to you. I'll leave it be. As long as you are both all right."

She relaxed. Relieved. "We are. Thank you, Carson."

* * *

John stood in the hothouse of the botany lab. Holding a large canvas bag open. Surreptitiously looking around the plants. The flowers. Past them to the scientists working in the main laboratory. Engrossed in their microscopes and their specimens, or so John hoped. "I... I do appreciate this, Doctor Brown. And I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. You, um, caught me at a bad time."

Katie smiled, approached holding a bunch of vivid pink and red roses. "It's all right, colonel. I'm sorry I interrupted. Will these do?"

"Yes." He glanced round again, embarrassed. Awkward as she placed the flowers into the bag. He closed it, concealing them. Shifted his stance, moving foot to foot as if he couldn't wait to escape. Or worse was seen before he could escape.

"Moira will love them. I think it's very romantic of you to keep giving her roses," she slyly teased.

"Ah. Well, she, um, she likes them," he awkwardly explained. "It puts her in a good mood. Um, thanks."

Katie tried not to laugh. "I'll be out of roses soon, Colonel Sheppard. The ones we're growing now won't be in bloom for weeks. You'll need to requisition an order from Earth before then."

"Oh? Yeah, I, um, I guess. Thanks. Thanks again."

She smirked as he quickly strode out of the room. Swinging the bag at his side as if contained something inconsequential. As if it was not unusual for the military commander of Atlantis to gather roses and then hide them before he delivered them to his girlfriend.

John strode to Moira's room. Knocked. "Moira?" He entered. Smiled at her absence. He carried the bag to the table. Pulled out the flowers. Set them in a vase filled with water. Set the bouquet on the table. He tossed a few onto the bed. Near the pillows. Left to drop off the bag in his room. Nearly crashed into Rodney as he exited to head for the cafeteria. "What?" he snapped, embarrassed lest his friend somehow saw what he had been doing. Although that was impossible. At least he hoped.

"What?" Rodney snapped in reply. Stood. "Oh." He snapped his fingers. "Tracking device. You were right. There was a little something. Got a minute?" He headed down the hallway.

John sighed. Followed. "Sure. A minute. What's a little something?"

"You'll see," Rodney called over his shoulder. "Radek missed it of course on his initial scans. Well, so did I, but when I began to tinker with it...it's quite ingenious really. Surprising given the lieutenant's mental condition and far more advanced than I would have thought considering the level of technology not to mention motor skills. Hey, didn't you say his arm was reattached? And it was Wraithy? Well, there's no way he could have manipulated the device with such intricacy and skill so he–"

"Wraithy?" John asked, as they entered the physics laboratory.

"–must have had one of his men do it," Rodney continued, undaunted as he moved to his work station, "but considering the caliber of this so-called scientists I highly doubt any of them were capable of this engineering feat. It really is remarkable, and believe it or not I think it may be from the Ancient line of tech considering its–"

"Rodney! Device!" John flared, the flow of words seemingly endless. Unstoppable. His stomach growled and he thought of Moira waiting in the cafeteria for him.

"Here." Rodney snatched it. Handed it to him.

John took the device. It had been pried open. Tiny wires and an even tinier crystal were discernible. John squinted, holding the device close. "What am I looking at?"

"There."

"Where?"

"There!" Rodney took a pen, used it to point at an even tinier little nob. "That's new. I did not put that in there. Don't ask me what it does, or what's it for because I'm not sure. Yet. And yes, the thing is inert, inactive. I'm going to have to use some incredibly sensitive scanners and a laser to examine it, and remove it."

John scowled, handed the device back to his friend. "So you brought me all the way down here to look at...what? A thing the size of a, a pinhead?"

"Yes. Although it's a little larger than your average-sized pinhead but still...let's grab dinner."

"I..." John sighed, followed Rodney out of the lab. "And you have no idea what it does. Or did."

"Not yet," Rodney corrected, "but give me a day and I will. My guess is that it's some kind of locator beacon, given its proximity to the energy signature source I created for its original intention but what could possibly determine its function or its–"

"A day, then," John said, trying to head off the flow of words. But was unsuccessful.


	10. Chapter 10

Specialization10

Moira's reverie was interrupted by a tray being placed across from hers. She looked up to see John sitting across from her. She smiled. He was clean-shaven. He had donned a black fleece shirt that looked warm and cozy. Matched his black pants. She playfully frowned. "You are three minutes late, colonel. Care to explain? Did you have trouble with your ordnance?"

He smiled. "No. I was busy. Actually I was cornered by Rodney. You're lucky I wasn't an hour late. What is it with you scientists and talking? Endlessly? Guess you'll have to punish me, doctor. In some kinky, salacious manner."

"You wish, soldier. Maybe I'll just spank that fine, fine ass."

He laughed, began to eat. "How's the foot?"

"Sore. So no stairs," she reprimanded. Resumed eating. "Or tables." He nearly choked on his food, but swallowed. "Or walls."

"Damn," he sincerely regretted. "Oh well. I'll find some way to keep you off your foot. On your back. On that pert little ass."

"Hilarious, John." She drank some soda, smiled. "You know, sweetie...we'll need to stop at your room first."

"Oh? And why is that?" he asked, smiling. Recognizing her playful, flirtatious tone. The love in her sparkling brown eyes. The soft smile containing merriment.

"I've got a problem. A problem you engendered."

"Me? And what particular problem is this, Moira?"

"You've stolen my possessions, John. I have several unmatchable sets of–"

"Good! Just the guy I need to see!" Rodney joined them, sitting next to Moira. "I wasn't finished talking to you!"

"Are you ever?" John quipped, causing Moira to snort with laughter.

"Ha ha. No. I need several new diagnostic tools and I've been told you were the–" Rodney began, ready to launch into full rant. He set the tracking device onto the table next to his tray.

"Rodney, not now," John complained, eying his friend. "Moira and I are in the middle of–"

"When are you not?" Rodney quipped. "Dinner, I meant," he added at John's narrowed gaze, "and yes, so am I. Anyway, I need you to sort of push this," he shoved a list towards him, "order of supplies up the food chain to the top of the list for the SGC. Sooner rather than later, and then I need you to–"

"Fine. Done."

"What? Just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that." John took the list, stuffed it into his pocket. "Amazing, isn't it?" he winked at Moira who smiled.

"And he can chew gum and walk at the same time too," she added, causing him to scowl.

Rodney laughed. "Now that is amazing! Didn't you even want to look at it? Or discuss–"

"No."

"Rodney," Moira said, eying the scientist, "you really want John to question everything on that list, and to have to explain exactly why you need all your necessary equipment?"

"Well, no, when you put it like that."

"That's why I'm having to do right now," she complained. "I'm trying to explain to the colonel here what I need to complete my own research, and how my equipment's maintenance is essential for the success of our mutual ventures. But he insists on checking and re-checking over every bit of equipment personally. And all the scrutiny and explanations and–"

"Tell me about it!" Rodney commiserated. "You'd think we were asking for unnecessary equipment! As if our work here isn't vital to the success of this mission! Hey, I would have thought he'd give you whatever you wanted."

She sighed. "You'd think so, but no. He doesn't listen and when he does he ends up doing what he wants anyway. Isn't that true, John?"

He smiled. "I only do what you want me to do, whether you realize it or not, Moira. And yes, oh yes, I will personally inspect every single piece of your equipment. Over and over until I am completely and utterly satisfied. So...you were telling me about yet another problem?"

Moira smiled. "Yes, colonel. I was. One you have caused due to insufficient supplies and hoarding of vital materials."

"Hoarding? Hmm...I disagree. Those materials you want to claim are not all that vital," he argued, realizing what she meant. Entering the game as she challenged him.

"Maybe not to you, but they are to me," she refuted. Considered. "Certain pieces don't match, and I really need the requisite parts to complete the entire set."

He grinned. "Ah. I don't think so, Moira. Those particular parts were damaged, weren't they? Ruined. Too sodden to use effectively, whether in conjunction with their counterparts or not."

She frowned. "Even so, John, they are useless to you now. Not nearly as...as functional as before. But to me they are, in conjunction with their counterparts. So I'd like them back, please. I don't like mixing and matching unmatchable pieces."

Rodney looked from one to the other. "What the heck are you two talking about?" He saw their locked gazes, challenging expressions. Their enjoyment of the conversation. As if it was a game. Their obvious flirtation.

John ignored him. "Hmm...you do have a valid point there, O'Meara. There's nothing worse than one piece not matching another on the same, the same...application," he decided on the word. "Still, I would suggest completely foregoing the one in favor of just utilizing the other. As I suggested earlier today. Are you complying now?"

"No. I need both because they complement each other, Sheppard. No matter how much you'd prefer it if I did without the one. Both are vital components and I won't go without either. So return what you've requisitioned."

"What are you two talking about, really?" Rodney asked, dumbfounded.

John glanced at Rodney. "Supplies. What else?"

Moira nodded. Matching John's innocent expression with her own. "Yes, supplies. John?"

He sighed. Made a show of pouting, of annoyance. "Fine. But I'm still taking them if I find them satisfactory. Deal?"

"Deal. Thank you, colonel."

"Any time, doctor."

Rodney sighed, shook his head. "You two are just off in your own little world, aren't you? Fine! I need those supplies by yesterday, Sheppard!"

"ASAP, got it. Go," John ordered.

"Fine, I'm going!" Rodney stood, moved to another table.

"Damn, Moira, that was well played," John commented with a grin.

She laughed. "Damn, John, it was! Seriously, I need my panties back."

"Panties? Who was talking about panties, baby? I wasn't." He laughed.

She lightly kicked his ankle. "Hilarious, John!"

"It was, Moira! Delicious. But I meant what I said. We'll just institute a revolving door policy on your sodden underwear, shall we?"

She sighed. "What is it with you and my–"

"Supplies? Equipment?" He smirked. "Guess who needs an ordnance check now, baby?"

She shook her head. "Geez, sweetie, can't you lock that thing down for at least an hour?"

He laughed. "No. Not today. Not with your mouth, baby. Hmm...then again with your mouth–"

"Shut up!" He laughed as she flung a roll at him. "Fucking soldier!" she fumed under her breath.

"You will be. Hey!" he protested as she flung another at him. He caught it, tossed it back onto her plate. "Play civil, Moira. No, don't. Eat your dinner. You'll need your strength."

"Damn it, John, we need to slow it down! Don't you listen to me at all? Nothing kinky!"

"Depends on your definition, baby. Of kinky. And we will slow it down, just not today."

"Oh, don't stop your silly game on my account," Rodney grumbled, joining them. "I just forgot the device in my haste to leave your silly, gooey display of affectionate–"

"Here, Rodney, sorry, we..." Moira's words fell as she grabbed the device. Paused to look at it. "Is this the tracking device? What is that blue light?"

"What blue light?" Rodney snatched it from her. Examined it. "There's no light."

"What? There was! Right there!" She pointed to the tiny addition.

"It's not lit now. Hold it again," Rodney suggested. Glanced at John who was watching. All merriment gone from his face.

Moira took it. Held it on her palm so Rodney could see. "Nothing now. Maybe it was a fluke, or I hit something in it to–"

"No." John took it from her, rising to his feet. He dropped it to the floor. Smashed it under the heel of his boot. Again.

"John!" Moira and Rodney exclaimed at the same time. They watched as John stepped aside to reveal the crushed remains of the object. Bits of wire and crystal amid the shards of metal. He stomped on it again for good measure, obliterating it.

"Remember what you said, Rodney? A locator beacon? We just found what set it off." He raised his eyes to Moira. Rodney did the same.

"What?" Moira asked, looking from the destroyed object to John. To Rodney. To John again. "Me? I...what?"

"Son of a bitch," Rodney noted, but frowned. "But how? Why? It doesn't make sense, John. I mean how...why...obviously he would know she was in Atlantis. Where else would she be? And even so it only activated once. Presumably it sent a signal but my scans detected no such option."

"Not where. When." John looked at his friend. Looked at Moira. "When. And I'm damn sure it sent a signal. Why else put it there in the first place? The question is why. Why now? And who the hell is helping him?"

"What? What would Ford want with me? I mean, I mean..." Moira stammered. Eyed the destroyed device on the floor again.

"Who knows? He's crazy, remember?" Rodney said. He emptied his tray, knelt to carefully scoop up the remains of the device. "Could be for anything. For his arm. For leverage against John. For access to the city. But you're right, John, the bigger question is who is helping him? With this kind of sophisticated and advanced technology. And precision. I still don't understand the point of it, though. Like I said, of course she's in the city. Now. Do you think he's heading here now?" Worry crossed his face.

"No. He won't come near the city. We would detect him instantly. He knows that." John rubbed his chin, thinking. Watched as the scientist stood, set the tray full of mechanical pieces on the table. "See if you can pinpoint any kind of signal from that thing. Any location. It's a start, at least."

"And you're sure he's not coming here? Now?" Rodney repeated. Glancing round the cafeteria as if he expected Aiden Ford to walk through the doorway.

"No. Not here. Not now. Not him."

"Then who?" Moira asked. She stepped closer to John, suddenly rattled.

"I don't know. But now that the device is destroyed we have the upper hand. For now."

"All right. I'll see what I can do. It's a long shot. A very long shot, given that you've practically annihilated the thing." Rodney grabbed the tray. Grabbed the last of his food. Balanced the two as he left the cafeteria.

Moira touched John's arm, gaining his attention. "John? It doesn't make sense. Rodney's right. Maybe it was just a, a test. A joke. To rattle you. You said yourself that Ford is playing some kind of game with you, right? Maybe this was the next, um, move."

"Maybe. Don't you worry, Moira. He won't get near the city. Or you. We'll figure this out. Let's go." He began to lead her out of the cafeteria. "Didn't you have some, er, components you wished to collect?"

"What? Oh...yes," she smiled, freeing his arm to limp at his side. "Yes, colonel. Vital ones."

"I wouldn't say vital," he muttered with a quick smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Specialization11

Moira slowed halfway down the second hallway. "Wait!" She leaned on the wall, taking the weight off her injured foot. She checked her pockets.

"What is it? Moira, you need to go and see Carson."

"I did. Shit. I left my pills in the cafeteria. Help me to your room so I can get my, um, components."

He smiled. "Take my arm. Do I need to carry you?"

"No." She took hold, and he guided her carefully to his room. She limped to his bed. Sat. Stretched out her leg on the bed, resting her foot off the floor. She turned, frowned. "For crying out loud, John!" She snatched a pair of her panties hanging from the bedpost.

He laughed. "Sorry. I forgot about those."

"Sure you did! Where else?"

"Drawer." Before he could move she stood, limped to the dresser. Opened it. Pulled out a few more pairs. She dug around.

"Geez, John, you have more of my underwear than I do!"

He laughed. "Maybe so, baby."

"And they had better be all mine, flyboy! Where else?"

"Don't you worry, baby, they are all yours. I swear. Pants. Third."

She searched, found one stashed in a pocket of his gray pants. Scowled at his laughter. "God! You are such a kinky, perverted–"

"Yes. Yes, I am, baby. Huh, I forgot about those. Sorry."

She sighed, stuffing them into her pockets. She sat on the bed to rest her foot. "Anywhere else, sweetie? I'm almost afraid to ask."

He grinned. Pretended to think. "Hmm...no...I think that's it. No, wait. Under my pillow? No. Oh, I bet there's a pair in my TAC vest. And maybe in the bathroom..."

"Hilarious, John!" She laughed. "Give me a minute and I'll go get my–"

"No. You rest. I'll go get your pills." He moved to the door. "Hey, Moira, there could be a pair somewhere in the sheets. You know, for, um, those lonely, lonely nights. Or my jacket."

"Shut up! You are sick!"

He laughed. "I'm just trying to help." He left her, walked quickly to the cafeteria. Snatched the bottle of pills from the empty table. He eyed them a moment, strode to the infirmary. "Carson!" he called, standing near an empty bed.

Carson entered. "What is it, John? I just had dinner."

"Oh." He rattled the bottle of pills. "You just gave Moira these, right? They don't seem to be helping her much."

Carson looked at the vial. Then at John. "Yes. Despite her denials I noticed that too. I'll corner her tomorrow and check that foot again. John...are you absolutely certain nothing hurt her in that cave?"

"What?" John tensed. Grew very still.

"When you saved her. Moira told me what happened and I just want to make sure she wasn't injured in any way."

"She told you. What happened." The words were flat. Monotone.

"Yes. Look, she explained why you don't want to talk about it. So we won't. I didn't realize how horrible a monster the creature was. You mustn't blame yourself if an illusion caused Jacobs to become compliant and not fight the thing. If it prevented you from saving him in time. And being thrown across the cave must have disorientated you. I'm surprised you are not hurt worse, actually. I'm sure you did all that you could to save Jacobs. And thank God you caught Moira in time before she was dragged away by that thing! But are you sure she wasn't scratched or cut in any way? Anywhere?"

John was staring. He had been clutching the bottle of pills so tightly it almost broke. But hearing the story Moira had created he relaxed. Hearing the fiction of her rescue. Of his non-captivity. Of heroics he had been unable to perform. "Yeah. She's unharmed. Not a scratch."

"Good. Have her come see me tomorrow. I may have to give her another muscle relaxant."

"Okay. Thanks."

* * *

Moira sat, waiting. Impatient. Amused as she had found yet another pair in his jacket. She looked around his room, wondering where else to check. Eyed the Johnny Cash poster. The

table. She moved to her hands and knees on the floor, peering under the bed.

John entered, smirked, about to make a smart ass comment but his emotions caught him. Held him. What she had done for him. Continued to do.

Moira backed up, careful not to knock her head on the bedframe. "Ah ha! I knew it! I knew you had this pair!" She pulled out a skimpy, lacy violet pair of panties. Straightened suddenly. "John?"

He smiled. "Sorry, baby. I was captivated by that pert little ass wiggling in those tight, tight jeans," he smoothly recovered. "Here."

She sat on the bed as he neared. "Thanks. What took you so long? Oh! You weren't gathering any, um props, were you?"

"No."

She smiled, caught his belt. Pulled him closer. "Jo-hn," she teased in a sing-song voice. "I won't make it to my room. So let's have sex here. Okay?" She unbuckled his belt.

He leaned to kiss her. Pulled back. "No. We have to go to your room," he insisted.

"What? Why? The bed? John, you won't notice the bed, I promise you. Won't you be on top of me anyway?" she wooed. Hands running down his crotch.

"At first, yes." He sat close, kissing her. "But it has to be your room."

"Why? Most of my underwear is here anyway," she pouted.

"I'll carry you. Come on."

"Fine. But don't carry me." She sighed. Stood. Limped to the door. "All this just for my bed?"

"Yes." He slid his arm around her waist, guided her out of his room. Down the hallway. "Lean on me, Moira. Why are you so stubborn?"

"Me? We could have stayed in your room and had sex! Now I have to limp down two fucking hallways just because you prefer my bed! I mean, seriously, John, what does it matter? I know you prefer that mattress but do you notice it all when we're having sex? I doubt it. So why the obstinate insistence to go to my room when we were in yours and you have a perfectly good bed we can use?"

He sighed. Swung her up into his arms. "Better, baby? Anything to stop your grumbling!"

"John! Put me down! Damn it, put me down!"

"Keep squirming and I'll drop you on that pert little ass!" he warned.

She sighed, holding onto him. Blushed as a few people passed. S lowed. Stared. "It's my foot," she explained. "John! It's not funny!" She could see him biting back laughter.

"Sorry. It's her foot," he explained, but a laugh escaped his lips as they reached her room. "Here, your highness." He set her down gently. "After you."

"Oh shut up," she grumbled. Entered her room. "I don't want to have sex with you now, John, so go and play with your own damn ordnance before I, before I..." She froze, staring at the table. The big bouquet of vivid pink and red roses. The rich scent hovered on the air.

John closed the door. "You were saying?"

She turned, smiled. "Oh John!" She limped, nearly fell into his arms. Kissed him passionately, repeatedly until she pulled back. "What did you do?"

"What? Nothing! Yet." He grabbed her rear, lifted her. Carried her to the bed. Gently set her down. "I'll get you a glass of water for your pills. Sit."

She stared after him. Eyed the flowers. Turned to see the few near the pillows. She eased off her shoes, wincing. Took the glass he offered. "Thank you. The roses are beautiful! What prompted this romantic gesture? Are you suddenly the hearts and flowers guy?"

He smiled. Sat next to her as she downed two pills. "No." He took the empty glass, the pill bottle. Set them on the table. "Lay back. I'll peel you out of those tight jeans. Inch by inch. Now, who was getting a spanking? I can't remember."

She laughed. "As ordered, colonel." She reclined, moving the roses aside. "As for a spanking, I still think you deserve one. For stealing my panties."

He leaned close, kissing her. Fingers unbuttoning, unzipping. Slid his hand to touch her panties. To caress. "Hmm...damn these are tight. I can barely fit."

She laughed. "Hmm...I wonder how you can, sometimes, sweetie. With that big, hard, long ordnance of yours." He laughed. She ran her mouth down his throat. "John, why the flowers?"

He pulled the jeans down, tugging until they were off her body. "Do I have to say it, Moira?" he teased. "Weren't the flowers enough? Geez, next you'll be wanting some sappy, sentimental card. And there are no Hallmark stores in this galaxy." He sat, removed his boots.

She sat. Ran her hand up his back. Kissing his throat. "John, you are more than enough." She slid her fingers under the black fleece shirt. "I can't get enough," she complained.

"Good. That was my plan all along." He turned to kiss her.

"Get your fucking clothes off and let's get it on, sweetie,"she teased with a coy smile.

He grinned. "As ordered, baby. Damn..what the hell is in those pills?"

"The flowers, silly. Get a clue, John," she remonstrated. Pulled off her sweater. Her t-shirt.

He pulled off his shirt. Stood to remove his pants. "Oh, I'm getting it, baby, don't you worry."

She laughed. "That's true." She scooted back, moved onto her knees to pull down the covers. "Let's get underneath this time. It's cold!" She scrambled under the sheets. "John?"

He had moved to the table. Moved back to the bed. Slipped in next to her. "Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you desire."

She touched his face. Drew him close. "I desire you. Hey! What's that?" Something soft was tickling her skin under the blankets.

He laughed. Showed her the rose he held. He trailed it across her throat, her collarbone. Lips. "A rose, baby. Oh, that's right, you're no botanist." He kissed her. Set it aside to run his hands along her arms. Pulling the bra straps down. Pulling the bra down. She arched so he could unhook it. Toss it aside. He took hold of the rose. "Do you know why I selected this particular color?"

She smiled, stroking his arm. Losing herself in his beautiful green eyes. His passionate, playful gaze. "No. Why?"

He kissed her. A soft, slow motion of his lips on hers. "Because it matches. This." He ran the rose over her lips. Down to tease each breast, each nipple. "These especially." He ran it down her waist. Paused as she reacted, shifting. Sighing. He fingered the panties, caressed. Felt her arousal. He kissed her, pulling them down, down, off. "And this," he ran the flower over her intimately. "Here." He ran the blossom all along her. "Wider." She obliged, spreading her legs in delicious anticipation. "Here." He ran the flower along her folds. She lost her breath, fingers tightening on his arm.

"John...John..." She pulled him onto her, kissing him. He tossed the flower aside, returning her kisses. Moving his mouth along the same path the flower had taken. Moira arched, moaned as his tongue teased, traveled. His kisses hot. Hungry. "John, oh John...are you..."

"You better believe it, baby," he murmured against her skin. "You smell like roses, Moira. Sex and roses and I'm so fucking hard now," he wooed. Fingers shoving her thighs apart. She gasped, squirmed as he kissed along her thigh. Teasing her, taunting her as his erection throbbed along her leg, demanding.

"John, John, we have to be quiet, we have to be quiet, quiet," she pleaded breathlessly. "Oh John, oh John!" she whimpered, helpless as he circled, circled. Fingers and mouth wandering, teasing. Moira writhed under him, heart racing. Body tensing, yearning. "John! Oh John!" she cried, so close it was nearly unbearable.

John groaned, about to come himself but prolonging it. Prolonging the foreplay to ensure the maximum orgasm, the shattering climax. He felt her trembling, gushing. He couldn't hold back any longer. Slid up suddenly and entered with a deep, hard thrust. Moira cried out as pleasure inundated her. He was moving in a steady, steady rhythm. She caught his arms, lifted to kiss him, kiss him, run her mouth over him as he changed tempo. Moved faster, faster. Harder. The bed rocked wildly. The headboard slammed, slammed.

"Moira! Oh Moira, Moira, tighter! Tighter, baby, oh yes! That's it! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he groaned loudly. An extended moan escaping his lips as he came in a sharp flood of release.

Moira caught his mouth in an extended kiss. Then arched, clutching as he slid expertly. Faster, faster. She cried out, his name a stuttering litany. The climax blossomed. Sheer sexual pleasure melting her. "John!" she moaned, falling, falling back onto the bed.

"Moira, my Moira...oh baby, I've got a little more here...tighter, oh yes! Fuck, fuck! That's so fucking sweet!" he grunted, the last of his need assuaged. He thrust, thrust, slowed. Fell upon her with a shudder.

Moira smiled, caressed his back. Kissed his shoulder. Amused at how he came. She could always judge the quality of the climax and pleasure by how profusely he swore. And how intensely. Judging by his extended exclamations it had been very, very good for him.

John smiled blissfully. Sated. Satisfied. Thoroughly content. Achieving an orgasm and release that had equaled hers. He reveled in their pleasure. Her soft noises growing louder, more frequent, more intense as he gave her all that he could. As much as he could. The sweet orgasmic litany of his name music to his ears. Inspiration to his cock.

"John." Moira swallowed, throat raw. She frowned for a moment. "We were too loud!"

"Don't care," he countered, voice muffled against her breasts. "Let the whole fucking city know we came. That was glorious, Moira!"

She smiled, kissed the top of his head. "Yes, it was, sweetie. I...um...I..."

"What?" He lifted his head. Slowly slid out of her. Moved half off her. Kissed her. A long, loving kiss. "Whatever you want or need is yours, Moira."

She caressed his arm. "John, I don't want...I don't want this to, to end. I mean...not just the sex, but, but..."

"Why would it end, Moira? I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

"No." She hesitated.

"Then it won't end, sweetheart. As intimately as our bodies are entwined our hearts are even more so."

"John..." she whispered dreamily.

He smiled. "That worked? Wow. Don't get all teary on me, O'Meara."

"Sorry, Sheppard."

He settled comfortably. Resting his head on her. "Give me five, er...fifteen after that, baby. Shit. Maybe twenty."

She laughed softly. "Go to sleep, John. Remember? No post-coital talking. Unless it's romantic. Then talk away, sweetie."

"Sheesh, that's a terrible rule!" he complained. "How's your foot?"

"Fine. Go to sleep."

"No. I'm just resting. The night is young, baby. We have hours of sexual delights ahead of us." He raised his head to view her face. "And don't you worry, Moira. There is no way that Ford will come close to the city. You're safe. I promise you that."

She smiled. Touched his cheek, his jaw. "I know, John."

"You were wondering about the flowers," he said, changing topics. "I know what you did."

"What? What did I do?"

"Everything." He settled again.

She waited. Waited. "John? Everything?"

"Yeah."

"Could you be more specific?" she asked, tugging his hair.

"What? Oh..everything. I asked Carson about your foot. He told me he wasn't going to ask me about the cave. Because of you." He lifted his head, moved to prop himself up on one elbow. "Because of what you told him. What happened there. How I was thrown across the cave. Couldn't manage to save Jacobs. How I saved you."

"Oh." She stroked his shoulder.

"Oh?" He played with her hair. "Moira, you don't know how much that means to me."

His serious gaze, solemn tone enamored her. "You can trust me, John. Nothing more will ever be said about it. Unless you need to talk to me. No one else needs to know. You were very brave, very strong, John."

"Yeah, right. You were, Moira. Thank you." He kissed her.

"Oh! The flowers! I see."

"Yes. And because I love you." He kissed her again. "My Moira. I'll give you much more than flowers if you would only tell me what you want. What you desire. What you yearn to have."

"Apart from you? Apart from your love? I love you, John. That's all that matters."

"True. But I am serious. What was that thing you mentioned? A, a tsavorite pendant or–"

"I was teasing, John." She kissed him. "Only you. I want you." She paused, added slyly, "And my underwear."

He laughed.


	12. Chapter 12

Specialization12

John rolled onto his back, still chuckling over her comment. He sighed. Stretched languidly in the bed, enjoying its comfort. Folded his arms under his head, under the pillow. "Ah, Moira. I've never been...I've never been so damn happy. Not like this. So in love I can't see straight half the time. Why did it take us so long to find each other? One chance expedition, that's all it took! Think how close we came to missing each other."

Moira stared at him, turning onto her side to face him. Startled by his volubility, his declarations. He was staring up at the ceiling. City lights gleamed along his profile. Threw his shadow onto the wall. "Not, not really, John. You would have worked your way down to me eventually. You know. Your lots some women," she teased.

"Hilarious, Moira. If I hadn't have made a move on you in Pleistocene Park I bet Lorne would have," he noted.

"Hardly, John. And as I recall I made the move on you, colonel. Not the other way round."

"That's right. You did. Caught me off-guard." He looked at her.

Moira's expression was strangely serious. "Me too. Those two weeks after that mission I was afraid you'd just forgotten me, or weren't interested. Or had moved on to some other lots some woman. I was, I was nervous."

He smiled. "I hadn't forgotten you, Moira. I just couldn't find a time to pursue you. That's all. But I did. And I'm making up for lost time now, aren't I?"

"Yes, sweetie, you most certainly are. Wow, John, you...you're never this talkative."

"I know. Must be that exquisite sex we just had. I'm never letting go, Moira. Never. You are mine. I'm going to give you everything you ever–"

"Enough!" She covered his mouth with her hand. "As romantic as that is, John, you'll be all pissy if you say more, so just stop. Stop."

He kissed her hand, moved it off him. "What? I thought you liked this kind of–"

"John, please! I..." She appeared distraught. Sat and pulled the blankets around her. "I love you, John! I love you...and that, that shouldn't have happened. I mean, I shouldn't have let it...I mean, I love you too much! So much so that you are all I think about, all I want, all I need. We have to slow this down before we, we crash. Okay?"

He stared at her. The change in her mood throwing him. "I don't understand, Moira. You mean the sex? Or something else?" She was silent. Staring at the darkness. Hair tumbling messily down her bare back. The blankets clutched around. "Sweetheart? One minute you're complaining I don't say enough romantic things and then when I do you're telling me we need to slow it down. What's going on with you?"

"I'm sorry, John. I'm tired. Satisfied. Stop talking. Just enjoy the moment. Isn't that what you always say? Sleep. I've had so many orgasms today I can't see straight and I'm babbling."

He frowned. Puzzling over her words, her concerns. He could detect an underlying sadness in her and could not for the life of him figure out why. Knew it at least wasn't something he had done or hadn't done. "Moira? Moira, is it the room situation?" he guessed.

"No. Go to sleep." But she tensed. Fingers tightening on the blanket.

"Moira? It is! It is."

"No! Please, John, just go to–"

"Sleep? No." He sat. Flexed his arms. Yawned. Ran a hand through his hair. Ran a hand up her bare back. Fingers tangling in her hair. "Well?"

"Please," she said, flinching at his touch. Chiding herself for letting too much slip. Considered how to distract him. She met his gaze, smiled. "John, if you don't sleep now you'll never be able to deploy in twenty. Wasn't that your objective, colonel?"

He ignored her flirtation. "I've been thinking about this, Moira. The room situation."

"No! I mean," she calmed, "it doesn't matter. My foot will be healed in a few, few weeks and it won't matter then. Besides, it's usually you who had to traverse those hallways and it doesn't bother you, does it? I didn't mean anything by it. It was just because my foot hurt so please don't give it another thought and let's go to sleep, John. We need to sleep after so much sex, okay? Okay?"

He blinked at her monologue. The rush of words, colored by emotion. "You want our rooms to be closer, don't you?" he persisted, unable to leave it alone. Unwilling. "Since it's hardly a secret anymore that we are dating we could just move to–"

"No!" Her vehemence startled him. She sighed. "Please, John, stop! Please." Tears threatened. "Don't say another word. All, all I wanted was, was, was a closer room. That's all! I didn't mean anything else, I swear! Just a closer room. Not the same room, no no no no, not that at all and not even, not even anything approaching the, the, the M word so please, please don't say another word about it! If you love me you won't say another word about it! John?"

He stared. Bewildered. Her fear, her panic, her sorrow unexpected. "All right, sweetheart." He pondered her nervous discourse. Her careful dance around anything resembling the idea of moving in together, of the M word which he realized with a start was marriage. He uneasily looked at the darkness. Emotions colliding over that word. That idea. She had merely wanted a closer room. He had been thinking of adjoining rooms, maybe even the same room as often as they were in each other's beds. But the M word threw him off-balance. As it had her, apparently.

Moira's heart was pounding. She touched his arm. Shyly met his gaze. "John. John? I'm sorry! I tend to, I tend to overreact and babble when I'm um, agitated. Don't, don't worry about it. About a closer room. I mean, we're fine. We're fine. Aren't we, John?"

"You tell me, Moira. Are we? I mean...I mean if you want a closer room to mine I can arrange that. It's no big deal. The truth is I was thinking of closer rooms too. Adjoining rooms, even. Maybe, maybe even the same room but these Lantean quarters aren't really built for double occupancy if you know what I mean. But we can make it work if you–"

"No! No." She sighed, catching his hand in hers. "No, John. Forget it. Forget everything I said. Please. We're fine. We're fine. Everything's fine. I didn't meant to..."

"Tell me, Moira," he persisted, despite his reluctance, "I have to know. I'm not saying I am, but if I sometime in the future I were...to ask...you...would you..."

She swallowed. Unable to meet his gaze. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I would...of course I would if you...but don't. Please, don't."

"Don't?"

"You, you weren't thinking of, of it, were you? I mean, I mean, come on, John. We're in the Pegasus galaxy. Every, every mission is a potential threat..."

"I know. That's, that's why I haven't said anything...I mean...I, um, truth be told, Moira, I was worse at the M word than I am at the, the talking thing."

"What?" Her gaze shot up to his. "You...you...oh? Oh! You were?"

"Yeah." He looked away from her surprise. Her shock. "Long ago. Before all of this. Atlantis, I mean. It, um, it didn't work. Stuff... um...there's stuff about me that...she couldn't handle it...and I was...I mean I didn't really...so it ended," he awkwardly explained. "So I...well...I never intended to become so deeply involved with any woman again. Like that. But you...that was before you." He licked his lips, desperately needing a beer. "That explains my reluctance. What's yours? A similar situation?" He met her gaze.

She stared at the blankets. "I...sort of." She was still mulling over the prospect of an ex-wife. It seemed more troubling than his lots some women. She swallowed. Hot. Tense.

"Sort of? Come on, Moira. I showed you mine. Time to show me yours. One of your few, few men, was it?"

"Yes. It's not what you think." She couldn't bear his intense scrutiny. "It was...long ago. Before this. Before Atlantis. Um...things...rushed. But not like this. I mean, it was, it was never this intense, this, this...it wasn't like this, what I have with you. It rushed. To, to an...an engagement."

"And?" he prompted. Touching her arm. Oddly jealous hearing of a fiancee. "Break your heart, did he? Went after some other woman? Decided to play the field?"

"He died."

The words hung in the air. John stared. Shocked. The soft, terse admission erasing his jealousy. His suspicion. "Moira? I..."

"No." She met his gaze, oddly calmer. Clear-eyed. "You didn't know. No one does. And it's not what you think, John. There are things you don't know about me either. Things that would make you...make you reconsider the way you feel about me. I'm fine now. Please, don't. I don't want to see that pity in your eyes. Now you'll look at me differently, treat me like I'm fragile glass. But I'm not. Not anymore. I don't, I don't deserve anyone's pity. So don't."

"Okay. Okay, Moira," he gently said. Curious at her strange guilt. Finding an echo in his own. From his own past. He drew her face to his. Kissed her lips gently. "I'm sorry, Moira. I didn't–"

"Know. So you don't have to be sorry. Shit. I'm sorry, John! I shouldn't have brought all this up over a stupid distance between our rooms! Because of my stupid foot and my stupid awkwardness!"

"It's not stupid, Moira. Don't."

"Are you, are you going to leave me now, John? Because I've ruined what was so perfect. So harmonious?"

"No. You haven't ruined anything, sweetheart. You did throw me, that's for sure, but it takes more than that to scare me away from you." He kissed her. Moved her onto her back, pulling the blankets from her. "My Moira. My Moira...that explains quite a lot, actually," he mused.

"I don't want your pity, John! So don't."

"We won't speak of it again, honey." He kissed her lips. Suggestively moved along her. "Moira," he wooed, forcing his compassion, his sympathy aside. Found it hard not to look at her in a different way.

She sighed. "You can't help yourself, can you?" she realized. "Damn it." She kissed him. "You were right, John. We need to ban post-coital talking."

He smiled. "I told you, baby," he fondly admonished. Shoving all thoughts, concerns away for the moment. "What do you want, my Moira?" he asked into her ear. "Do you want me to make love to you, sweetheart?"

She relaxed slightly as he resumed his more familiar attitude. The motions against her body. His mouth teasing her earlobe. "I...make love to me, sweetie."

"Whatever you wish, baby...but no sweetie during sex," he reminded.

* * *

Once Moira had fallen asleep John carefully extricated himself from her arms, from the blankets. He pulled on his clothes. Quietly left. Strolled to the cafeteria. It was empty. He grabbed a beer. Sat at a table. Sighed. Ran a hand over his face. Sipped the beer. Long swallows soothing. Thinking. Reeling from the unexpected discussion. The emotions.

After such perfect, blissful sex. Over and over. To this weird awkwardness. Over a closer room. The confessions both had made. The M word hovering like an unspoken threat. A dead fiancee. He stared at the bottle in his hands, brooding. Wishing he could take it all back. The whole conversation. His own emotional attachments. Revelations. Over sharing a room with her. Over the M word. Over the dead fiancee. He found himself thinking of his ex-wife. Comparing her to Moira. Contrasting. Wondered about the dead fiancee.

"John? Everything okay?" Rodney joined him, munching on a chocolate bar.

"Hey, Rodney." He sipped his beer. "You're up late."

"I got hungry. Was working late on a quantum projection theory enabling the...anyway," Rodney caught himself before he launched into a detailed explanation, "why are you up at this hour?"

"Got thirsty."

"Oh. I assumed you'd be with–"

"Moira? Yeah. I was."

"Oh." A pause. "Um...you two have a fight?"

"No."

"Oh. Did you break up with her?"

"No."

"Did she break up with you?"

"No." He glowered.

"Okay. You just seem to be upset. That's all. Drinking at three in the morning. Doesn't that usually involve woman problems?"

John briefly smiled. "Yes. Usually."

"So...want to talk about–"

"No."

Rodney ate. Shrugged. "Look, I'm obviously not the expert in this particular field. You are. But something's wrong. It can't be that bad if you haven't broken up or had a fight. I mean it's not like you suddenly proposed marriage and she said no. Oh...oh..." He caught the quick glance, the quick glint. "Did you?"

"No, Rodney. I didn't." His voice was low. Irritated.

"I'm sure she would say yes if you ever decided to–"

"I know that. She told me."

"She told you? So you did pro–"

"No. I didn't."

"Then she did?"

"No." John sipped his beer. Sighed. "Somehow the subject came up, is all. Not that. The subject of a closer room. Living together. In the same room, or adjoining rooms. Or closer rooms. Shit." He downed the beer.

"And what? She said no? I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah, well...it's complicated. There's stuff."

"Stuff?"

"In both of our pasts. That make it complicated. Hers...hers is worse." He set the bottle on the table. Wished he had grabbed a second one.

"Worse? Like how worse?"

"Much worse. I can't tell you. Moira..." he cursed to himself. Rubbed his eyes.

"I still don't get why you are sitting here drinking at three in the morning. You haven't broken up. You didn't have a fight. Just some disagreement about living arrangements?"

"Sort of. Like I said, it's complicated."

"Sort of? Sounds like you are making it complicated, John."

"Not me. Her. Because of her dead..." He scowled. The word slipping from his lips before he could stop himself. "Shit. Forget I said that."

"Dead? Dead what?"

"Nothing."

"Wait! Dead husband? Was she–"

"No. Almost." He chided himself. Pointed. "Not a word. To anyone."

"Okay. Wow. Dead fiancee. Geez. Poor Moira. So no wonder she has cold feet about even changing rooms."

"Frozen, actually. Hell, I did too. When that word came out of nowhere. Shit. You can't say anything, Rodney! No one else knows. It was a long time ago."

"All right. It's not like I'm going to blab it on the PA tomorrow," he grumbled. "Wow."

"Yeah," John agreed. Stood. "I'd better get back. She'll think the worst if I'm not there when she wakes up." He headed for the exit, turned. "Rodney. Thanks."


	13. Chapter 13

Specialization13

Moira rolled, rolled. Reaching for John but found empty sheets. She sat. "John? John!" She looked round the dark room. Trying not to panic. She scrambled out of the bed, limped. Nearly tripped over his boots. She stared down at them. Not knowing if it was good sign or a bad sign that he had left them. Sighing she moved to the dresser. Pulled on a pale green nightshirt. She limped back to the bed, got under the blankets. Sat waiting. Wondering. Worrying.

She wasn't sure what to do. To go search for him. To leave him alone. He had seemed fine, although shaken. Shocked. Had soothed her, made love to her. But now was gone. She felt tears, forced them away. Wondered about his ex-wife. The things that this other woman had not understood. Had not accepted.

The door opened. She tensed. John entered, closing the door behind him. He stared at her. She sprang out of the bed. Awkwardly ran to him. "John! John!" She hugged him, nearly falling in her haste. Her desperation.

He held her tightly, kissed her brow. "Moira, I'm sorry. I had to get a beer. To think. It's all right. I didn't mean to upset you. Here. Wrap." He slid his hands down to grab her rear. She kissed him, wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her. Carried her to the bed. Gently set her upon it.

"John, John, I–"

"No." He kissed her, freed her. "Get into the bed, sweetheart."

She did so, watched as he undressed. Somewhat relieved at his return. His normalcy. His undressing to join her. "John, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"No." He slipped in beside her. Kissed her. Moved her onto her back. Slid over her. Kissing her, stopping all words. All protestations. All apologies.

"John, John, I–"

"No. My Moira. Sleep."

"I'm so sorry!" she persisted. Desperate to alleviate the tension. "I'm sorry! I should never have even said–"

He kissed her again. Kissed away the tears on her cheeks. Her lips. Her throat. Rolled onto his side, pulling her against him. Stroking her back. "Ssh, Moira. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We can talk tomorrow."

"No. We're not talking about this again. John, please. Just forget the, the whole thing. Please."

"Okay, Moira." He held her close. Stared at the darkness. "Everything's fine. You need to see Carson tomorrow about your foot. Will you?"

"Yes." She snuggled. "Just hold me, please," she whispered. Clinging to him. As if he was going to suddenly vanish.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'm right here. We're fine. We're fine," he repeated. Wondered.

* * *

Moira woke alone. She sat, rubbing her eyes. Tangled by nightmares and fears she stared round the room. Calmed herself. Sighed. Once showered and dressed she lingered, lingered. Finally moved to the cafeteria reluctantly. She grabbed a danish, ate it. Downed a glass of orange juice. Stood. Saw John sitting with Rodney. She hesitated. Hesitated. Finally limped towards them.

"Yes," John was saying in an aggravated tone, "I ordered your precious supplies, okay? Top of the list and all that. Even ahead of Zelenka's, so stop nagging me."

"I wasn't nagging you. I was inquiring," Rodney corrected.

Moira hesitated as she neared. Eyes on John. His disordered hair. His bare neck. Broad shoulders and strong back clad in a snug blue t-shirt. Her gaze moved to Rodney. He looked past John, saw her. Moira froze, wincing at the ache in her foot. At the all too familiar expression on the scientist's face. "No. No!" At her anger John turned. "Damn it, John! How could you? How could you?"

John half rose from his seat. "How could I what?"

"How could you tell him? How could you tell anyone?"she fumed. Tears in her eyes. "I trusted you! Don't you get it? Don't you see? How could you?"

"I..." He suddenly realized the cause of her distress. Glared at his friend. "Rodney!"

"I didn't say anything!" the scientist declared.

"Moira," John began, in a conciliatory tone.

"No! How could you?" She whirled, strode out as fast as she could.

"Damn it! Rodney!" John flared.

"I didn't say anything!" Rodney repeated, bewildered.

"Moira!" John sprang to his feet, strode after her. "Moira!"

"Leave me alone!" she flared, trying to speed down the hallway but her foot twisted. Aching so strongly she fell. "Shit!"

"Moira!" John sprinted to her, but she flung his hand off her arm.

"Don't! Don't touch me! Leave me alone!" She scooted to the wall, sat. Bending her knees to her chest to rub her foot.

"Moira, I didn't–"

"You did! Now go! Just go! It's over, John! We're through! Go!" she ordered.

He stood, towering over her. "No. Like hell we are. If you won't let me help you then fine." He sat next to her. "We'll do this right here! In the hall. Moira, I swear I didn't tell–"

"How could you, John? How could you tell him? How could you tell anyone?" she complained, eyes on her foot. Anger dissolving into hurt. "Don't you see? He's bound to tell Katie and–"

"No. He won't. Look, I didn't...I mean, I blurted some stuff, but not that exactly. He guessed. He won't tell anyone. What's the big deal anyway?"

She glanced at him, teary eyes full of anger again. Hurt. "You don't get it, do you? Do you? Everything's changed! It's bad enough the way you see me now, but Rodney is looking at me like that now! And he'll tell Katie, of course he will, and she'll try, oh she'll try but she won't be able to help herself and tell Julie or Anna, and soon the whole base will know and they'll all see me like that! All those looks of pity, that's all they'll see! A poor, pathetic zoologist with the dead fiancee and not me any more! I can't! I can't go through that again, John! I won't! I, I would rather leave the, the city than go through that again. How could you do that to me?"

John stared, dumbstruck.

Moira touched the wall. Awkwardly eased herself to her feet, leaning heavily upon it. "Just leave me alone, John! It's over! Okay! It's over between us! Just go!" She began to limp. A faltering, stumbling gait.

John stood. Cursing to himself. He stepped after her, slid his arm around her waist.

"Let go! Fuck you, John, don't you ever listen to me!"

"Shut up, Moira," he said mildly. But anger simmered as he guided her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, honey. I never meant for it to slip out like that, to slip out at all! Moira!"

She shoved him, lurched ahead and fell to the floor. "Let me go! Damn it, John, you, you've ruined everything!"

He pulled her into his arms, kissing her. Silencing her anger, her sorrow with a deep, deep kiss. Shoving her body into his as he hauled her to her feet. "I said shut up, Moira. Hold on."

"No! John, no!" She shoved him. "Don't you fucking dare carry me! Don't you dare!"

He met her furious, teary gaze with a smirking smile. Without a word he swung her up into his arms, off her feet. Carried her to her room.

"Damn it, John! Put me down! Leave me alone! John! John!"

"Keep shouting, Moira. Maybe the whole fucking city will want to see the show!" he snapped, but it had the desired effect as she became silent, holding onto him. He carried her into her room. Set her on her bed. Stepped back to view her. "I'm sorry! All right? I'll fix this! I'll fix this so no one else knows! Don't you worry."

"Don't you see? You can't! You can't fix this! You can't–"

"Look, you think this has been a picnic for me?" he flared, angered at her outrage, sensitivity. Her misery. Her blame. Angry at himself for blurting it out, however obliquely. "You caused this, Moira! You! All that shit you laid on me last night! All you had to do was to tell me you wanted a closer room to mine, but instead, as usual, my melodrama princess had to blather on and on about closer rooms, adjoining rooms, the same room, even the M word and then we're into dangerous and uncharted territory! We were perfect, Moira! Having perfect, perfect, unbelievable sex over and over! You had to spoil it by talking! Talking!"

Moira stared, mouth open. More surprised at his sudden loquacity than his anger. "I–"

"No, you had your melodramatic spiel! Now it's my turn, sweetheart. I'm sorry! I am sorry. I blurted stuff and I'm sorry that Rodney guessed it. And yes, we do look at you differently. I look at you differently. How could I not? With all that shit I went through with my divorce, and all the past stuff surfacing...I can't even imagine how much worse yours was. Of course it's going to affect me. How I see you. But not how I feel about you! Nothing will change that now, can't you see that?"

"I...I–"

"It's too late for that, Moira! Too fucking late! I tried, oh I tried but you," he pointed at her, "you wouldn't let me take the easy way out! And now you are stuck with me whether you like it or not! There's no way in hell we are breaking up now, okay? So no more, Moira! I'll fix this so no one else knows, don't you worry. Shit, you know I'm lousy at this kind of damn...talking, emotional...things...stuff...crap...but this ends now. Got it? You can trust me. God knows I can trust you. Okay? We're fine. Fine! Okay?"

She nodded, staring. Wide-eyed. Misery all but forgotten. Pain easy to ignore as everything spilled out of him. Apologies. Anger. Effusions of his feelings. "Okay, John."

"Okay? Okay, John? That's it? That's all you have to say?" he asked, suspicious.

"Yes, John."

He seemed to relax. "Okay, then. Okay, Moira." He headed for the door. Moved back to her. Moved to his knees in front of her. Moira tensed, heart nearly stopping as her breath caught in her throat, fearing he was going to do something reckless, like propose. Instead he ran his hands along her thighs. Stared intently at her. Calmer. Serious. "I am sorry, sweetheart. I never want to hurt you. Never."

She found her breath again. Leaned to kiss him. Touched his jaw. "You...you didn't mean to–"

"But I did, all the same." He kissed her. Stood. "Wait here for Carson. I'll send him to you." He ran a caress along her hot cheek. "And Moira, no more. I mean it. Okay?"

"I...okay, John," she whispered. Uncertain. She watched him leave. Stared at the closed door.

* * *

John strode down the hallway. Realized he had better school his expression as the marines were abruptly standing at attention, or dutifully ignoring him. He clamped down on his emotions. He walked into the infirmary. Straight to Carson. "You need to make a house call. Now."

Carson turned. "A house...Moira?"

"She's waiting for you in her room. She's having more trouble walking. You need to fix her foot now, Carson!"

"Aye. I'll give her another shot. I'll go now," Carson agreed, deciding not to question John as his mood was dangerously severe.

"Thank you." He swiftly traveled to the botany laboratory. Ignored the women and their smiles, their admiring eyes following his every move, every step. He entered the hothouse. "Doctor Brown," he said tersely.

She smiled. "Colonel Sheppard, I don't have enough roses for a bouquet but I could give you–"

"I'm not here for that." He swallowed his anger. "No doubt Rodney told you. About Moira."

"No, he hasn't said a...oh..." she quailed under his scrutiny. "Yes. He did. It was so unexpected! Poor Moira! To have suffered such a loss."

"Yes. I need you to tell no one. No," he raised a hand to stop her protest, "I'm serious. For Moira's sake. You have no idea how upset she is. You can't tell anyone else. Anyone. Please. She's hurt enough. I won't let her be hurt more than she is now. Not even by well-intentioned friends."

Katie stared. Impressed by his serious, stern protection. His concern over her. "All right, colonel. I won't tell a soul . I promise."

"Thank you. And don't treat Moira any differently. She doesn't want that. She doesn't need that." He glanced round at the assorted flowers. Sighed. "I think I'll need more than flowers this time," he grumbled. Left.

* * *

Moira frowned, put on her sock. "That hurt, Carson," she pouted.

Carson smiled. Closed his bag. "Sorry, love. You needed another shot. Directly into the foot this time. Have you been taking your pills?"

"Yes. It's fine...just when I forget and try to walk really fast, or run...or other, um, exertions." She studiously eyed the blankets. Recalling her footing during various sexual acts with John.

"Then don't walk fast. Don't run. Keep your weight off your foot as much as possible," he advised. "It will heal, Moira, but you need to baby it. Walk on it. Flex it to keep the muscles limber, but nothing beyond normal exertions. Rest it."

"Okay, Carson."

"I mean it, Moira. Relax. You're going to have to be restricted to base indefinitely unless I see a significant improvement."

She frowned. "Great." She awkwardly stood as Carson left and John peered into the room. She saw him. "What?"

"Sit. Keep that pert little ass in here!"

"John! You–"

"Enough, Moira!" He smiled lewdly at her. "Coitus. Sixteen hundred hours. Yours."

"What? John! John, you–" she spluttered, but he was gone. Closing the door. She cursed. Bewildered. Amused. Angered. She sat on the bed, worrying. Glanced at the clock, calculated the time and realized he had meant four o'clock. Only five minutes to wait. Strangely nervous she stared at her hands. The past resurfacing. Memories she would rather ignore, bury. She looked up at a knock on the door. Waited. Waited. "John?"

The door opened. John entered, smiled. Closed the door behind him. "Moira."

"What do you want, John?"

He smiled. "I told you, baby. Coitus. Sixteen hundred hours. Here." He stepped to her. "I've brought you chocolate. It's a little gooshy, a little melted. The same way I like you."

She took the candy bar, set it aside. "Hmm...and how do I like to eat it? Nibbling. Savoring the flavor of each bite. Licking...and then devouring."

"The same way I like to take you." He sat next to her. Touched her arm. Suddenly serious. "Moira, sweetheart. You have nothing to worry about . I fixed it. All of it." He kissed her lips. "Katie won't tell a soul. I promise you that."

"I...oh John...you, I'm sorry! It's just...you won't understand how it is, how it was..."

"I have an inkling."

"No, you don't! I mean..." She sighed, turned away from him. "There's so much you don't know. So much I can't...I can't tell you...yet...if ever...you...the, the blame...the..."

"The guilt? People treating you like a pariah? Not giving an inch to let you at least try to explain what happened? Pounding that guilt into you day after day? Yeah...I have an inkling."

She turned back to him. "What? You...what?"

He glanced at the floor. "I...can't tell you. Not yet. If ever. But yeah...I know...so don't you worry, Moira." He met her gaze. "We're okay, right? You. Me."

She smiled. Scooted closer to him. Hand on his thigh. "Yes, sweetie. We're okay. Thank you, John. Now...what is it you wanted, colonel?" she asked lightly, fingers stroking his thigh.

He smiled. "I told you, baby. Coitus. Now. It'll make it all better, I promise."

"Hmm...sweetie...on one condition."

"Huh? What condition?" he asked, suddenly worried. He caught her hand on his thigh.

She smiled. Kissed him. "Stop calling it coitus!"


End file.
